COMIC 
DIALOGUES 

for Boys and Girls 




COMIC DIALOGUES 

FOR BOYS AND GIRLS 

For Schools, Sunday Schools and 
All Juvenile Entertainments 



A New Compilation of Chosen Favorites 
for Young People 



BY 
CARLETON W CASE 



SHREWESBURY PUBLISHING CO. 
CHICAGO. 






^c? 



Copyright, 1916 
SHREWE33URV PUBUSH.NC COMPANY. 



••* Q 



W 



NOV 25 1916 



'CU44C726 



PREFACE. 

There isn't a tedious dialogue in this collection. Young 
folks, for whose use this material is specially designed, 
will appreciate that fact, and will likewise be gratified at 
the jollity, the wit and humor, that prevail throughout 
the little dramas here presented. 

There is an ever increasing call for this class of 
juvenile dialogues, and great pains has been taken to 
secure in this volume a selection that shall supply the 
insistent demand. 

In every class of juvenile entertainment, whether in 
school, church or home, this work will be able to demon- 
strate its availability. 

The nonrequirement of elaborate stage setting, special 
costumes and difficult properties, will be noted and ap- 
proved. 



CONTENTS 

BOYS 

Barking Up the Wrong Tree 5 

Budget of Blunders, A 3 

Close Shave, A 9 

Competing Railroads, The 4 

Composition, The 

Debating Society, The 5 

Editor's Trials, An 5 

For the Temperance Cause 3 

Heirs, The 5 

\ In a Backwoods School 8 

Jonathan's Daughters _ 

Katie Maloney's Philosophy 

-Least Said, Soonest Mended 1 

Letter, The g 

Love and Doughnuts 3 

Newspaper Perplexities 1 

O'Hoolahan's Mistake 3 

Opening Speech, The 6 

Photographer's Troubles, A 1 

Quack Doctor, The .- 3 

Recess Speeches 5 

Rival Speakers, The 2 

Romance at Home 3 

Running for Office 3 

Schoolmaster Abroad, The 7 

That Fire at Nolan's 1 

Visitors from the City 3 

Winning a Widow 1 

Wonderful Scholar, The 1 

Writing a Letter , 



SIRLS 


PAGE 


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80 


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103 


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55 


— 


18 


2 


13 


— 


90 


— 


41 


— 


37 


— 


75 


— 


9 


4 


69 


2 


26 


2 


64 




62 


1 


125 


1 


7 


1 


100 




147 


2 


94 




138 


5 


119 




16 


2 


88 




20 




33 


1 


116 


3 


110 


1 


51 


2 


30 


2 


2S 



A WORD TO TEACHERS 

Use special care in the assignment of parts. You 
know your pupils ; choose those best adapted to portray 
the several characters to be delineated. 

Be sure that all are perfect in their lines before the 
dialogue is given public presentation. Coach freely at 
the private rehearsals, as to gesture, action, voice, em- 
phasis, inflection, articulation, position and disposition 
of hands and feet, movement about stage, how to enter 
and exit, facing and addressing audience, and every de- 
tail that makes for a perfect performance. Be elocu- 
tionist, stage manager and property man as well as 
teacher. Remember that in all likelihood your young 
actors have everything to learn about stage matters and 
are dependent upon you to instruct them. 

Have at least two dress rehearsals, and more if 
needed. That means rehearsal in full costume, and 
with all properties, entrances and exits definitely ar- 
ranged, everything as it will be at the public perform- 
ance. 

We will not remind you to be patient; that's part 
of your regular business ! 



A WORD TO THE AMATEUR PERFORMER 

Learn every word of your part thoroughly, and as 
much of the parts of others who are "on" with you 
as will aid you in coming in with your lines at the right 
place. In other words, learn your "cues" as well as 
your lines. If your opposite in a dialogue makes a 
bungle of your cue, be prepared to speak your lines at 
the correct place, regardless of that. Keep your head 
and don't get rattled* 

Learn to face your audience, to speak toward them, 
and not to turn your back on them, even to exit. 

Learn where you are to come on stage (your en- 
trance), and where to go off (your exit). There is 
always one right place for this; have it definitely fixed 
before the performance. 

Wherever it reads "Ha ! Ha !" in a dialogue, it means 
that you are to laugh naturally. The poor writer has 
no other word to express a laugh; but don't you say 
"Ha! Ha!" Laugh, and keep on laughing, in your 
practice at home till you can do it as naturally as 
though you were "tickled to death." 

Speak distinctly, articulating your words plainly, and 
gage your voice to reach to the far end of the room 
without becoming loud or boisterous. 

In all matters of stage action, as well as of voice 
and gesture, be guided by your instructor. Presumably 
he knows more about these things than you do. 

Briefly, learn your part perfectly, and then do as 
the stage manager tells you to. 



COMIC DIALOGUES 

FOR BOYS AND GIRLS 
NEWSPAPER PERPLEXITIES 



CHARACTERS 
John Sanscript, Husband. 
Mary Sanscript, Wife. 

Scene. — A sitting-room — Mr. Sanscript lying upon a 
lounge, Mrs. Sanscript reading a paper. 



Mrs. Sanscript. John, I've been reading the paper. 

Sanscript. That's nothin'. I've seen people before 
who read newspapers. 

Mrs. S. Yes; but there are several things in the 
paper I can't understand. 

Sanscript. Then don't read 'em. 

Mrs. S. What do they mean by the strike, John! 
What is a strike, anyhow? 

Sanscript. A strike is where they have struck. 

Mrs. S. I don't grasp your meaning exactly. Now 
these strikers have stopped all the railroad-trains in the 
country. Why did they do it? 

Sanscript. To prevent 'em from running. 

Mrs. S. Yes, but why didn't they want trains to run? 

Sanscript. Because they wanted more money for 
running them ? 

Mrs. S. Do they pay more for stopping trains than 
for running them? 

Sanscript. No, you stupid woman ! 
7 



8 NEWSPAPER PERPLEXITIES 

Mrs. S. Then why in the world did they stop 'em? 
why didn't they run more of 'em, or run 'em faster? 
Seems to me that would pay better. 

Sanscript. Mary Ann, you will never surround the 
problem. 

Mrs. S. Maybe not, John. Some things are gotten 
up purposely to bother women. Now here is a column 
headed "Base-Ball." What is base-ball, John? 

Sanscript. Don't you know what base-ball is? 
Happy woman ! you have not lived in vain. 

Mrs. S. Here it says that "The Trolley-dodgers 
could not collar Mathewson's curves." What under the 
sun are "Trolley-dodgers," and "Mathewson's curves," 
and why should anyone wish to "collar" them? 

Sanscript. My dear, "Trolley-dodgers" is the ver- 
nacular for the Brooklyn base-ball club, and the 
"curves" are the way Mathewson delivers the ball. 

Mrs. S. Is the ball chained? 

Sanscript. No, you booby! 

Mrs. S. Then how does he deliver it? 

Sanscript. I mean, pitches it. 

Mrs. S. Oh ! Now here it says Jones muffed a ball 
after a hard run. What was a ball doing after a hard 
run? 

Sanscript. Hadn't you better confine your research 
to the obituary and marriage columns, Mary, with an 
occasional advertisement thrown in to vary the monot- 
ony? 

Mrs. S. Yes, but, John, I want to know! There's 
Mrs. Racket, over the way, who goes to all the base- 
ball games, and comes home to talk me blind about "fly- 
fouls," "base-hits," "sky-scrapers," and all those things. 
For heaven's sake, John, what is a sky-scraper? 

Sanscript. Compose yourself, old woman, you are 
treading on dangerous ground; your feet are on slippery 
rocks, while raging billows roll beneath. 

Mrs. S. Mercy on me! What do you mean? 

Sanscript. I mean, my dear madam, that whenever a 
woman begins to pry about among three-strikes, fair- 



IN A BACKWOODS SCHOOL 9 

i 

balls, base-hits, daisy-cutters, home-runs, and kindred 
subjects, she's in danger of being lost. 

Mrs. S. Well, I confess I'm completely lost to know 
what this newspaper means when it says that Doyle 
stole a base, while the spectators applauded. Have we 
come to such a pass that society will applaud a theft? 
Why was not Doyle arrested? Now here's Wagner put 
out by Cobb, assisted by Jennings, and I can't see that 
he did anything wrong, either. Jemima Christopher! 
Here it says that Murphy flew out. Does that mean 
that they use aeroplanes in playing base-ball, now ? Flew 
out of what? Out of the ball park, I suppose. What 
did he do that for? Why didn't he stay and finish the 
game? I don't believe a word of it, John, so there. 
What makes these newspaper men lie so horribly ? 
(Mr. Sanscript snores, sound asleep.) 
Curtain. 



IN A BACKWOODS SCHOOL 



CHARACTERS 

Teacher, 
John Jones, 
Sam Walker, 
Bill Smith, 
Jake Hicks, 
Joe Blobbs, 
Jim Barnes, 
Solomon North. 



Pupils. 



Scene. — A schoolroom. Boys seated around. 



Teacher. I tell yer, boys, you've got to stop yer 
noise over there, or I'll take some of you out and give 
yer a lammin'. 

John. Wall, it warn't me that was a makin' the 
noise. Bill Smith he axed me if I was goin' to be de- 



10 IN A BACKWOODS SCHOOL 

molished by Jake Hicks — you see Jake's been a threat- 
enin' me — and I told him I warn't, not by a jugful, and 
Jake hit me over the head, and I proceeded to bruise 
his nose. I warn't goin' to be imposed upon, you know. 

Teacher. And who was it that laughed and whis- 
tled? 

JaJce. Why, that was Bill Smith. When we got to 
hittin', Bill he got to laughin'. I think you ought to 
give him a slashin'. 

Teacher. I do not want you to tell me who I must 
whip, and who I must not whip. I am boss in that 
matter. I have been keepin' school fur the last ten years, 
and I calkerlate I know my business. 

John. Yes, sir, you do. I think you are a tip-top 
master. Jack Wright was sayin', a few days ago, that 
you warn't of no account, but I stood up fur you and 
said as how you were the best master that had ever 
teached in the Frog Hollow school-house. 

Teacher. That was right, John. Allers stand up 
fur your master, and your master will stand up fur you. 

Jake. Well, you don't know much, anyhow. Pete 
Morgan says his little boy Sam knows more'n you 
do. 

Teacher. Stop, sir ! No impudence, or I'll lam you 
within an inch of your life. We will now have some 
doins of a permiscuous kind. Daniel Hodges is a 
comin' here to visit the school, and as he is a committee 
man, I want yer to show off and be smart when he is 
here. I'd rather the meddlesome old man would stay 
at home — I don't see no use in committee men comin' to 
see the school, but as he has decided to come, I s'pose 
we'll have to do our best. John Jones, tell me how 
many kinds of cipherin* there is in the cipherin' 
book? 

John. There is three kinds, I guess — addition, sub- 
traction, and multiplication. 

Bill. There's four kinds — addition, subtraction, 
multiplication, and fractions. 

Teacher. Shut up, Bill. John says there's three 



IN A BACKWOODS SCHOOL 11 

kinds of ciphering and he knows. I know, too, and I 
say there's only three. 

Bill (aside). He's an old puddin'-head. 

Teacher. I've been teachin' school fur the last ten 
years. 

Bill (aside). And you ain't much of a teacher 
yet. 

Teacher. And I think I understand my business. 
Jake Hicks, what is the capital of Ohier? 

Jake. I don't think it's got any capital now. 

Teacher. Yes, it has. John Jones, we'll have to 
fall back on you. 

Jake. Don't fall hard, or you might scrunch him. 

Teacher. Shut up, Jake. John, what is the capital 
of Ohier? 

John. Philadelphy. 

Teacher. That's right. If it warn't for you the 
school wouldn't make much of a show when Daniel 
Hodges comes. Now, Sam Walker, you may read some. 

Sam (rises and reads). "And they took two mules 
and rode into — into Je-ju-je-ju." Master, I don't 
know this big word. 

Teacher. Spell it ! spell it ! 

Sam. J-e je, r-u ru, s-a sa, 1-e-m lem. J-e je, r- 
u ru, s-a sa — 

Teacher. Pronounce it, you dunce. 

Sam. I can't 'nounce it. 

Teacher. Let me see the word. (Takes the book 
and attempts to spell the word.) J-e je, r-u ru, je ru, 
that's a Latin word — skip it and go on. (Hands the 
book to Sam.) 

Joe (laughs). Ho! ho! 

Bill. Ha ! ha ! 

Jake. He ! He ! 

Teacher. Stop yer laughin', or I'll thrash half a 
dozen of you. Sam Walker, go on with your readin'. 

Sam. I don't keer much about readin'. I've got 
the toothache awful bad. 

Teacher. Take yer seat, then. (Sam sits down.) 



12 IN A BACKWOODS SCHOOL 

Jim. Master, ain't you goin' to give me a chance to 
show myself? 

Teacher. What can you do? 

Jim. I can spell mighty well. 

Teacher. But you can't pronounce. 

Jim. Just try me a spell, and s^ee if I can't. 

Teacher. Well, you may spell sugar. 

Jim {spells). S-u-g-a-r. {Pronounces.) Bushes. 

Joe. Ho! ho! 

Bill. Ha ! ha ! 

Jake. He! he! 

Teacher. Stop your laughin' Jim, you are a 
thick-headed boy. S-u-g-a-r doesn't spell bushes. You'd 
make a purty show. 

Jim. Try me again, master. 

Teacher. Spell cow. 

Jim {spells). C-o-w. {Pronounces.) Elephant. 

Teacher. Sit down. 

Jim. Well, if I can't git a chance to show myself, 
I'll go home. 

Teacher. Go, then; nobody cares. {Jim goes out, 
stamping loudly, and whistling.) 

Solomon. What am I goin' to do when that feller 
comes ? 

Teacher. You can't do nothin*. If you can keep 
your mouth closed and your feet still, it will be enough 
fur you. 

John. Master, Sol is purty good at speakin' pieces. 
Better let him speak somethin'. 

Teacher. Well, I will allow him to speak if you 
say so. Sol, what can you speak? 

Sol. Oh, I can speak 'most anything. 

Teacher. Well, git up and speak, and speak loud. 
I don't want any mumblin'. 

Sol. I ain't a mumbler. {Comes out and speaks in 
a loud tone.) 

You'd scarce expect one of my age 
To speak in public on the stage ; 



THE COMPOSITION 13 

You'd scarce expect one of my age 
To speak in public on the stage ; 
You'd scarce expect one of my age 
To speak in public on the stage ; 
You'd scarce expect one of my age 
To speak in public on the stage. 

Teacher. Stop! Don't you know any more of 
your speech? 

Sol. I'm speakin' my speech, ain't I ? 

You'd scarce expect one of my age 
To speak in public on the stage ; 
You'd scarce expect one of my age 
To speak in public on the stage. 

Teacher (going toward Sol, with a whip in his 
hand). Get out of this. (Sol rushes out, repeating 
the lines.) 

John (looking out of the window). Gracious! 
There's Hodges comin' now ! 

Teacher. Comin' now? Thunder! Why, we ain't 
ready for him yet. You may all run out; school is dis- 
missed for to-day. Hodges ain't a goin' to ketch me 
that way. (The boys run out, making a loud noise. 
Teacher follows.) 

Curtain. 

McBride. 



THE COMPOSITION 



Ellen seated in a chair on stage idly toying with 
scratch-paper and pencil. Enter Mary, also with 
scratch-book and pencil. 

Mary. O Ellen, do pray tell me, — what did Miss 
Brown say about our writing compositions ? You know 
I was not at school, and Susan White says we are to 
have them ready by Monday — and I was going to a pic- 




14 • THE COMPOSITION 

nic, too; I think it's real niean. But what subject did 
she give? 

Ellen. Well, for my part, I was in the room when 
Miss Brown explained the subject, but I guess you know 
about as much as I do. She said we were to write about 
"Famous Apples." 

Mary. "Famous Apples I" Why, who ever heard of 
such a thing? 

Ellen. Oh, don't you know? First of all, she told 
us there was the apple Eve ate, and I think that would 
cover the whole subject, for, heigh! ho! if it had not 
been for that apple, perhaps there would be no such evil 
as writing compositions. 

Mary (beginning to scratch with her pencil). 
Come on, let's write and get through. Wait a minute. 
(Writes rapidly on her scratch-booh.) See how this 
sounds: (Reads.) "Since the morning stars first sang 
together in their nightly watch over Eden, where our 
first parents, beguiled by the serpent, ate of that for- 
bidden fruit which brought death and all our woe into 
the world, apples have ever taken a prominent part in 
the history, mythology, and literature of the world." 
Now let me see (biting her pencil and looking thought- 
fully), what other apples are there? 

Ellen. Well, there was the Apple of Discord. 
Miss Brown said one time a man gave a party and in- 
vited everybody but Discord, and this made her very 
angry, so she threw an apple in the crowd. They all 
fussed over it ever so long, because Julia and Melvina 
and — and — what was the other girl's name? I have 
heard that name before somewhere. Oh, now I have it, 
— it was Venus. Oh, yes ! Charley Fisher said I had a 
profile like Venus, that's how I came to remember the 
name. Any way, they all three claimed the apple, till 
at last they agreed that they would go to France and ask 
a lady who lived in Paris, and whose name was Ida, to 
settle the question for them. Ida gave it to Venus, and 
somehow or other, I don't know how, but it brought on 
a big war. 



THE COMPOSITION 15 

Mary {writing). Let me dot down some of these 
points before I forget. {Stops writing.) Did Miss 
Brown tell you any more — oh, I know ! There was the 
apple William Tell shot from his son's head. 

Ellen. Yes, but we must not put that in yet. Miss 
Brown said we must tell about the apples a girl named 
Atlanta had. It was a very pretty story, but I began 
to wonder if the girl was named after Atlanta, and then 
I saw some June apples in a garden near by, and I 
wanted some so bad. And then she told us about some 
apples of Gomorrah — no, that is not right, but it sounded 
like some name in the Bible. Then there were some 
sort of golden apples that it was very hard to get, and 
there was the apple George Washington found in a 
dumpling. 

Mary {rising from her seat, and Ellen rising at the 
same time, both stand). Well, Ellen, I must thank you 
for telling me so much. You know if I have a talent for 
anything, it is for writing compositions; and with the 
outline you have given, I think I can make a very re- 
spectable essay. If you wish any help in arranging 
yours, it will give me pleasure to assist you. {Turns as 
if about to leave.) 

Ellen. O Mary, stop, wait! we must not put in ex- 
actly the same things, for then Miss Brown will think 
we helped each other, and I want that about Discord 
and William Tell for mine. 

Mary {angrily). No, indeed! I thought of William 
Tell myself, and I mean to put him in my essay, too. 

Ellen. Then you are just too mean and sneaking to 
associate with — after all my trouble in helping you, too. 
I hope you will never speak to me again! 

Mary. Indeed, miss, I am very happy in ending our 
acquaintance, for I am sure there can be neither pleas- 
ure nor profit in it. Wishing you may receive a hundred 
on your brilliant production, I bid you good-evening. 
{Bows* very low.) 

Ellen. And the same to you. {Both continue to 
bow until they reach the ends of the stage.) 

Lulu C. Hillyer. 



16 THE RIVAL SPEAKERS 

THE RIVAL SPEAKERS 



Enter Thomas, followed by Samuel, a much smaller 

boy. 

Thomas {turning to Samuel). What do you want 
here ? 

Samuel. I want to speak my piece, to be sure. 

T. Well, you'll be sure to wait; 'tis my turn now. 

S. No, it isn't, my learned friend; excuse me, but 
my turn came before that fellow's who spoke last — 'him 
whose voice "was still for open war." 

T. It's your own fault if you lost your turn. Go. 

S. Well, that's cool — as cool as an iced cucumber. 
Can't you ask some other favor, Mr. Trotter? 

T. Yes. Hold your tongue. 

S. Can't do it. Am bound to let off my speech : here 
goes: "My name is Norval; on the Grampian hills — " 

T. (in a louder tone). "Friends, Romans, country- 
men!" 

S. "Greeks, Regicides, and fellow-sojers !" 

T. "Lend me your ears." 

S. Don't do it; he has enough of his own. 

T. "I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him." 

S. (mimics gestures). I come to speak my piece, and 
I'll do it, Caesar or no Caesar. "My name is Norval — " 

T. Sam Sly, stop your fooling, or I'll put you off the 
stage. 

S. Don't, Tom; you'll joggle my piece all out of me. 

T. Then keep still till I get through. 

"Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; 
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him." 

S. I say, Tommy, whose calf have you been trying to 
imitate ? 

T. "The evil that men do lives after them, 

The good is oft interred with their bones; 
So let it be with Caesar." 



THE RIVAL SPEAKERS 17 

(Again interrupted by Sam mimicking his gestures.) 
Now, Sam, I tell you to stop your monkey-shines; if 
you don't, I'll make you. 

S. Try it on. Oh, you needn't think you can bully 
me because you wear higher-heeled shoes than I do. 

T. Nothing but your size, sir, saves you from a flog- 
ging. 

S. Well, that is a queer coincidence ; for nothing but 
your size saves you from the same. (To the audience.) 
What can be done with him? He's too big to be 
whipped, and he isn't big enough to behave himself. 
Now all keep still while I try again: "My name is 
Norval — " 

T. "I come to bury Caesar — " 

S. How many more times are you going to do it? 
A nice man you'd be for an undertaker. 

T. Sam, I'm for peace, but if you — 

S. You're for peace? I'm for piece, too, but for my 
piece, not yours. As I was saying, "My name is — " 

T. "Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest 
(For Brutus is an honorable man — 
So are they all, all honorable men), . 
Come I to speak at Caesar's funeral." 

S. Caesar is played out, I tell you. "My name is — " 

T. "He was my friend, faithful and just to me; 
But Brutus says he was ambitious; 
And Brutus is an honorable man." 

S. No such thing! Brutus was a brutal fellow. 

T. Come, Sammy, let me finish my piece and then 
you can have the whole platform to yourself. 

S. You're very kind, Mr. Trotter ; kind as the Irish- 
man who couldn't live peaceably with his wife, and so 
they agreed to divide the house between them. "Biddy," 
said he, "you'll just take the outside of the house, and 
I'll kape the inside." 

T. (to the audience). You see it is useless for me 
to attempt to proceed, so I trust you will excuse me. 
(Exit.) 



18 THE COMPETING RAILROADS 

S. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I hope you'll excuse 
him. He means well enough, but he's lacking here 
(touching head). He might make a decent crier or 
auctioneer, but when it comes to oratory — to playing the 
part of a Marc Antony — well, modesty forbids me to say 
more, except as the coast is now clear, I will proceed 
with my part: 

"My name is Norval; on the Grampian hills 
My father feeds his flocks — a frugal swain — 

Whose — whose — whose — " (aside to a boy near) — 
What is it? "A frugal swain, whose — whose — whose 
— " There! if I'm not stuck already! So much for 
that fellow's attempt to bury Caesar! He buried my 
memory instead, and your patience too, I fear. "A 
frugal swain — whose — whose — " I must give it up! 
(Exit with hands over face.) 



THE COMPETING RAILROADS 

A Dialogue for Four Boys. 



No. 1 meets No. £, who has a valise, and asks. 

Going East, sir? 

No. 4. Yes. 

No. 1. Well, step right up to the Union Ticket 
Office. Great through line, sir. Land you in New 
York sixteen hours in advance of any other route. 
Finest sleeping and dining cars in the world ! Chicken 
three times a day, and beds free from vermin. Butter 
on two plates, and molasses all over the table. Come 
right along, sir. 

Here No. 2 appears and hurriedly inquires, 

Going East, sir? 
No. •£• Yes. 

No. 2. Glad to meet you. Step over to the office. 
Shortest line to New York by twenty-seven miles. Put 



THE COMPETING RAILROADS 19 

you in there nine hours ahead of any other line. Finest 
eating-houses in the world. Soup three times a day, and 
fleas bulldozed by machinery. Come with me, sir. 

No. 3 comes up from behind and asks, 

Going East, sir? 

No. 4. Yes. 

No. 3. I'm just the man you want to see. Come 
along with me. Best and shortest route by a long shot 
to all points. Put you through in a jiffy. Splendid 
sleeping-cars on all night trains, and codfish-balls for 
breakfast. Conductors all of pious and respectable 
parentage, and fires kept up constantly. Come along, 
sir. 

No. 1 takes No. J/, by the left shoulder. No. 2 takes him 
by the right shoulder, and No. 3 takes him by the 
coat-tail. In a concert they all pull, and say, 

Come with me, sir. 

They all ease up, and each says to the others, 

Let go of this gentleman. 

Then they all ask, 

To what point are you going ? 
No. Jf. Going to Maria. 

Each one of the agents jerks out a railroad map and 
studies it intently. After looking on the map several 
minutes each looks at the others and then at No. £, 
and asks, 

Where is Maria? 

No. Jf. Where's Maria ? Why, I s'pose she's to hum. 
Maria is my wife, and lives six miles east of town. 

Arranged from the Star-Spangled Banner. 



20 RUNNING FOR OFFICE 

RUNNING FOR OFFICE 



CHARACTERS 

Mr. Job Johnston, A small farmer and a candidate 
for office. 

Mr. Henry Hobbs, His friend. 

Jacob Zimmel, Mr. Johnston's man of all work. 

Scene I. — A room. Mr. Johnston and Mr. Hobbs 
discovered seated. 



Mr* Johnston. Yes, I hev thought the matter over 
fur some time, and I hev concluded to run fur County 
Commissioner. I hev been workin' in the party and 
votin' with the party ever since I commenced to vote, 
and I think I ought to hev an office jist as well as 
anybody else. I am party well eddicated, and I think 
I kin hold that office in a right proper manner. 

Mr. Hobbs. Yes, that's so! 

Mr. Johnston. Things hev got into sich a way in 
this county that when a man gets into office he wants 
to stay there all the time. Now, that's jist the way it is 
with Tom Raynor, the man who has the office of County 
Commissioner now. He has had the office fur two tarms, 
and he wants to git it fur another tarm. I don't believe 
in doin' business in that way; I go in fur rotatory mo- 
tion in office. 

Mr. Hobbs. Yes, that's what I go in fur. 

Mr. Johnston (rising and walking about). I hev 
been a hard workin' man all my life, and I think I ought 
to hev a rest now. I think that this thing of holdin' 
office should go round amongst the people and not stay 
all the time in one place. That is,, I mean that a few 
men shouldn't git all the offices and the rest of the 
people git none. 

Mr. Hobbs. That's jist what I think about it. 



RUNNING FOR OFFICE 21 

Mr. Johnston. I feel that I hev got enough of an 
eddication fur to go into the office of County Commis- 
sioner. I am purty sure that I kin do the work which 
has to be done in and about the office. I am a good deal 
better eddicated that Tom Raynor. Tom Raynor never 
had much of an eddication. 

Mr. Hobbs. No, I s'pose he hadn't. 

Mr. Johnston. I hev had a good deal of experience 
in doin' business. I have been doin' business now fur 
twenty-five years, and I know all about how business 
ought to be transacted. There ain't many men that 
kin git ahead of me in makin' a bargin. I tell you, 
Henry, we don't git the right kind of men into office 
somehow. We git sich men as Tom Raynor. Tom 
Raynor is a man that has never had any experience of 
any account. He don't know how to drive a bargin; 
he don't know how to attend to the duties of his office; 
he don't know nothin'. 

Mr. Hobbs. Yes, that's so! 

Mr. Johnston. Now, there ought to be sich a man 
as me in that office. I tell you if I was there things 
would be different. There shouldn't be sich high taxes, 
there shouldn't be any cheatin' and stealin' from the 
county. I would wake things up and make the rascals 
flee away. 

Mr. Hobbs. Yes, you'd jist be the man fur the place. 

Mr. Johnston. And I think I'll git the nomination, 
too. I've been electioneerin' some, and everybody I 
hev talked to seems to be of the opinion that I am jist 
the man fur the place. I hev been in the party fur a 
long time and it would be usin' me purty mean if they 
didn't give me the nomination. 

Mr. Hobbs. Yes, it would so! 

Mr. Johnston. But I feel purty sure I will git the 
nomination, and when I git it I will hev no trouble in 
gittin' elected, fur our party always makes a clean 
sweep in this county. 

Mr. Hobbs. Yes, that's so ! 

Mr. Johnston. But I must be movin'. I must up 



22 RUNNING FOR OFFICE 

to Rikerville and come down past Hobblestown. I hev 
a great may friends I want to see, and the time fur the 
nominatin' convention is comin' purty nigh. I must be 
a movin' fur I don't want to lose the nomination now, 
after losin' so much of my time. 

Mr, Hobbs {rising). Yes, that's so ! 

Mr. Johnston. Yes, these are busy times and I must 
keep movin\ {Exeunt Mr. Johnston and Mr. Hobbs.) 

Enter Jacob, R. 

Jacob. Veil, I tinks dot Mr. Shonston has peen 
makin' too much fuss apout gittin indo office. Now I 
vouldn't run afder office so much bad as dot. To dell 
de truth apout de madder, I vouldn't pe poddered vith 
an office. Dem fellers dot git indo office dey purty nigh 
always gits to lyin' und swearin' und stealin* und 
drinkin', und I tinks dey had petter stay at home und 
nefer mind de offices. Now, I shoost hope dot Mr. 
Shonston von't git de office vich he is tryin' so pig hard 
fur to git. If he vould git it he vould not do any more 
goot, — he vould shoost not addend to his peesness at all. 
Vhen I am lifin' here I haf to appear to vant Mr. 
Shonston to git into office, but I ton't vant him a pit 
a'ready to git into de office. I spose I vill haf to vote 
fur him pecause if I didn't und he should find it oud 
he vould make me leave purty quick a'ready. I ton't 
vant to leaf here. Dis is von purty doleraple goot 
place to stay, und I tink I shall haf to vote fur Mr. 
Shonston und keep on stayin' here. 

Enter Mr. Johnston, L. 

Mr. Johnston. Well, Jacob, have you heard the 
news? 

Jacob. No, I hafn't heard notings. Vot is de 
news? 

Mr. Johnston. The convention is over and I hev 
peen defeated — I didn't git the nomination. 

Jacob. Tunder! Is dot so? Veil, I tinks dot is 
putty good. 



RUNNING FOR OFFICE 23 

Mr. Johnston. You don't mean that, do you, Jacob? 

Jacob. You can't git indo de office? Is dot vot's 
de madder? 

Mr. Johnston. Yes, they didn't nominate me, they 
didn't. 

Jacob. Veil, vot's to pe done apout it? Vill you 
kick up a fuss? 

Mr. Johnston. Yes, I will. It was downright 
shabby to use me so. I ought to hev had the office, — fur 
I've been a great politician and have worked in the 
party fur twenty-five years. 

Jacob. Vot haf you peen vorkin* at? 

Mr. Johnston. You don't understand me, Jacob. 
I have been in the party and hev been workin' fur the 
party and votin' with it. When a man sticks to a 
party fur twenty-five years he ought to hev an office. 
I am not satisfied at all — I won't endure it. 

Jacob. But vot are you goin' to do? How are you 
goin' to git at fur to kick up a fuss? 

Mr. Johnston. Well, I'll tell you. I am goin' to 
run as an independent candidate. 

Jacob. Vere are you goin' to run to ? 

Mr. Johnston. O, Jacob, you don't understand 
English. I am goin' to be a candidate, anyhow, and I 
feel sure I will be elected, fur the people see I hev been 
shamefully treated. Each party will nominate a man 
and then I will be a candidate too. That's runnin' as 
an independent candidate. 

Jacob. Und vot will you do if de beople von't elect 
you? 

Mr. Johnston. Oh, I'll be elected, — you needn't 
git scared about that. The people see that I have been 
shamefully treated, and they will rise up in their in- 
dignation and carry me triumphantly in office. 

Jacob. Is dot de vay dey do in dis gountry? 

Mr. Johnston. Yes, this is a glorious country, and 
when the people see that there is wrong-doin' goin' on 
they rise up in their might and put the man in office 
who is entitled to it. 



24 RUNNING FOR OFFICE 

Jacob, Und I s'pose dot you is de man dot is en- 
titled to dis office? 

Mr. Johnston. Yes, I am the man and I must be 
elected. I am edicated and I hev been in business fur 
twenty-five years. 

Jacob. Den you is shoost de man. 

Mr. Johnston. I feel sure that the people will 
stand by me ; they will see that I hev not had fair play 
and they will rise up and with a great shout they will 
rush to the polls and elect me to the office which I ought 
to hev. 

Jacob. Veil, I'd petter go oud und git to diggin' 
dem botatefs. {Exit Jacob L.) 



ACT II. 

Scene II. — Same as first act. — Mr. Johnston, Mr. 
Hobbs and Jacob seated. 

Mr. Johnston. Well, the election is over and I am 
defeated. And what an awful defeat it is, too ! I only 
got ten votes. (Rising and walking about.) I declare 
this is too bad. I didn't know I was livin' in sich a 
place and among sich ungrateful people. Why 
shouldn't I hev had the office? Why didn't the people 
vote fur me when they said jist to my face that I was 
jist the man fur the office? It is an outrage to be 
treated in this way. 

Mr. Hobbs. Yes, that's so ! 

Jacob. Veil, Mr. Shonston, I vould nefer touch a 
bolitic again. Und if de boliticians vould come aroundt 
you again I shoost vould knock dem all of er. 

Mr. Johnston. I am an eddicated man, and I am 
well qualified fur the position and the people of the 
county all know this, yet when I run fur the office the 
people turn around and vote fur Tom Raynor and the 
other man. Some of them have had the impudence to 
tell me that I should not hev run as an independent 
candidate. 



RUNNING FOR OFFICE 25 

Mr. Hobbs. Yes, that's what some of them said to 
me about it. 

Mr. Johnston. That's a nice way fur men to talk, 
now isn't it? Jist as if I didn't know my own business. 
I believe that when a man gits treated the way I was 
he ought to rise up and run as an independent candidate. 
And the people ought all to rush up and elect that man. 
But in this county the people are all blockheads. 

Mr. Hobbs. Yes, that's so ! 

Mr. Johnston. When the people don't git the right 
man nominated they ought to turn and vote fur the man 
who ought to hev got the nomination. But the people 
here don't know anything. They jist vote fur whoever 
gits the nomination. They think it would be a dreadful 
thing to leave the party. 

Jacob. Veil, I tinks dot dis bolitics is a purty 
droublesome peesness. 

Mr. Johnston. Yes, it is. 

Mr. Hobbs. Yes, that's so. 

Mr. Johnston. I am goin' to stop now. I won't 
hev nothin' more to do with politics. I won't even go to 
the polls and vote fur anybody else. I've been shame- 
fully treated — I've been abused. 

Jacob (aside). Veil, if he quits de bolitics I s'pose 
der botaters vill pe petter addended to. 

Mr. Johnston. I'm done with politics and poli- 
ticians; yes, I'm done with them forever. I've been 
shamefully abused. 

Mr. Hobbs. Yes, that's so! 

Jacob. Veil, Mr. Shonston, I tinks dat is shoost 
righd ; I wouldn't touch dem nohow. Shoost look at me 
— I ton't bodder vith bolitics, and I alvays feels purty 
good. I am shoost von Sharman vot addends to my own 
peesness, and I feel a good deal petterish as anypody 
vot bodders himself apout bolitics. This pig fool elec- 
is ofer und now I tinks ve can go oudt und git dem 
botaters raised up a'ready. 

Mr. Johnston, Yes, but before we go I want to 
say a word to the audience. 



26 KATIE MALONEY'S PHILOSOPHY 

Mr. Hobbs. That's so! We ought to say a word to 
the audience. 

Jacob. Veil, I ton't know vot you haf got to say to 
de audience. I s'pose dey don't care nothin' apout der 
botaters. 

Mr. Johnston (to audience). I will never more 
dabble in politics. 

Jacob (to audience). He's shoost righd, but he's goin* 
to dapple a good deal more in de botater peesness. 

Mr. Hobbs. Yes, that's so! 

Mr. Johnston. When a plain fellow, such as I am, 
gets an idea that he ought to hold some office, my expe- 
rience shows me that the best office for him, and the one 
for which he is most fitted, is his own office, his own 
business ; and as to running as an independent candidate, 
he is only offering one more example of falling to the 
ground between two stools. 

Mr. Hobbs. Yes, that's so. 

Mr. Johnston. Oh ! you old magpie ! Come, Jake — 
(Exeunt Mr. Johnston and Jacob, R.) 

Mr. Hobbs. That's not so ! (Exit L.) 

Curtain. 

H. E. McBride. 



KATIE MALONEY'S PHILOSOPHY 



CHARACTERS 
Alice, A young mistress. 
Katie Maloney, Her servant. 

Scene. — A neat kitchen, Katie scrubbing the floor and 
singing. Enter Alice. 



Alice. What are you singing for? 
Katie. Oh, I don't know, ma'am, without it's because 
my heart feels happy. 



KATIE MALONEY'S PHILOSOPHY 27 

Alice. Happy, are you, Katie Maloney? Let me 
see: you don't own a foot of land in the world? 

Katie. Foot of land, is it? (With a hearty Irish 
laugh.) Oh, what a hand ye be after joking; why, I 
haven't a penny, let alone the land. 

Alice. Your mother is dead ? 

Katie. God rest her soul, yes. (With a touch of gen- 
uine pathos.) May the angels make her bed in Heaven. 

Alice. Your brother is still a hard case, I suppose? 

Katie. Ah, you may well say that. It's nothing but 
drink, drink, drink, and beating his poor wife. 

Alice. You have to pay your little sister's board? 

Katie. Sure, the bit creature; and she's a good little 
girl, is Hinny, willing to do whatever I axes her. I 
don't grudge the money what goes for that. 

Alice. You haven't many fashionable dresses either, 
Katie Maloney? 

Katie. Fashionable, is it ? Oh, yes, I put a piece of 
whalebone in my skirt, and me calico gown looks as big 
as the great ladies'. But then ye says true, I hasn't but 
two gowns to me back, two shoes to me feet, and one 
bonnet to me head, barring the old hood ye gave me. 

Alice. You haven't any lover, Katie Maloney? 

Katie. Oh, be off wid ye — 'ketch Katie Maloney 
getting a lover these days, when the hard times is come. 
No, no, thank Heaven I haven't got that to trouble me 
yet, nor I don't want it. 

Alice. What on earth, then, have you got to make you 
happy? A drunken brother, a poor helpless sister, no 
mother, no father, no lover; why, where do you get all 
your happiness from? 

Katie. The Lord be praised, miss, it growed up in 
me. Give me a bit of sunshine, a clean flure, plenty of 
work, and a sup at the right time, and I'm made. That 
makes me laugh and sing; and then, if deep trouble 
comes, why God helpin' me, I'll try to keep my heart 
up. Sure, it would be a sad thing if Patrick McGrue 
should take it into his head to come an' axe me, but, the 
Lord willin', I'd try to bear up under it. 



28 WRITING A LETTER 

WRITING A LETTER 



CHARACTERS 
Mary. Susie. 

Mary sewing. Susie at a table writing. 



Susie. Oh, dear! 

Mary. Why, Susie, what is the matter? Oh what a 
dolorous face! 

Susie. Yours would be dolorous too, over such awful 
work. 

Mary. Why, what are you doing? 

Susie. Writing a letter to brother James. Mother 
said he wished me to write to him, and so I am trying, 
but I never can do it, I know. Never ! 

Mary. But why not? I do not see anything so very 
terrible in writing to a brother whom you love dearly. 

Susie. But I don't know what to say. 

Mary. Then if he were here, you would not speak to 
him? 

Susie. Oh, Mary! 

Mary. What would you say ? 

Susie. Why, a thousand things. I should ask him 
to tell me all about his journey, and how he found 
grandma, and whether my little chickens are all great 
hens, since last summer, and I should tell him all about 
our visit to the circus, and the ride we took yesterday, 
and all about the new cage John is making for the hawk, 
and what a chase Rover gave us last week, and — Why, 
Mary, I could talk straight ahead for a week, and not 
tell him half the things he would like to hear. 

Mary. Then your letter should be easy enough. 
Write him all these things. - 

Susie. But mother said I was to write him a letter. 

Mary. Well ? 

Susie. But such everyday talk as that is not a letter 



WRITING A LETTER 29 

Mary. Pray what is your idea of a letter? 

Susie. Why, a letter is about something particular. 
I am sure papa talks about business letters, and friendly 
letters, and dunning letters, and money letters; and 
mother says she must write letters of condolence, and 
letters of congratulation, and (laughing,) I know some- 
body who writes love letters. 

Mary. But your letter to James is a sisterly letter. 
Have you commenced it? 

Susie. Yes. (Reads.) "Dear James: I take my 
pen in hand to inform you — " 

Mary. Well? 

Susie. That's all. 

Mary. Then write — "to inform you that I was 
such a little simpleton, that I thought I must write a 
formal, stiff letter, about something particular, to my 
dear brother, but sister Mary having told me you would 
like me to write just as I would talk if you were here, 
I am going to tell you about my visit to the circus." 
There, Susie, will that do for a start ? 

Susie. But will he really like such a letter as that? 

Mary. I am quite sure he will. 

Susie. Then it will be no trouble at all to write to 
him. 

Mary. In writing a letter, Susie, you may safely 
conclude that the same subjects that would interest your 
correspondent if you were chatting with him, will also 
interest him when written. 

Susie. Then a letter is just written conversation? 

Mary. A friendly or family letter. Letters upon 
certain subjects, or between strangers, must be more 
formal. 

Susie. Then I may just write to brother James as if 
he was here, and I was talking to him ? 

Mary. Exactly. 

Susie. Thank you, sister! My letter will be easily 
written now. 

Curtain. 

S. A. Frost. 



30 THE WONDERFUL SCHOLAR 



THE WONDERFUL SCHOLAR 



CHARACTERS 

Mr. Martin. Mrs. Smith. Ellen. 

Mr. Martin, entering, finds Mrs. Smith sewing, Ellen 
reading. 



Mr. Martin. Good morning, Mrs. Smith. 

Mrs. Smith. Good morning, neighbor. I'm wonder- 
ful glad to see you! 

Mr. Martin. How are you, Ellen ? Home for good ? 

Mrs. Smith. Dear me, neighbor; I hope she ain't 
home for bad. 

Mr. Martin. Is she going to stay? 

Mrs. Smith. I 'spect she will, if she don't go away 
again. 

Mr. Martin. Finished schooling? 

Mrs. Smith. Yes, neighbor, she's eddicated way up ! 

Mr. Martin. Come here, Ellen. (Ellen comes to 
him.) Now let's see what you know? 

Mrs. Smith. Know! ther ain't nothing she don't 
know. 

Mr. Martin. Did you study grammar, Nell? 

Ellen. I didn't study nothing else. 

Mr. Martin. Parse me that book. (Ellen hands 
him the book.) 

Mr. Martin. What gender is book, Nell? 

Ellen. Nominative gender, speculative cases, and 
agrees with them as understands it. 

Mr. Martin. Wonderful ! Did you learn history ? 

Ellen. You'd better believe I did. 

Mr. Martin. Who was Napoleon Bonaparte? 

Ellen. He was a man, a good man, and he died one 
day. 

Mr. Martin. Who won the battle of Waterloo? 



THE WONDERFUL SCHOLAR 31 

Ellen. The side that whipped the other side. 

Mr. Martin. Who was elected President of the 
United States after Washington? 

Ellen. The man who succeeded him. 

Mr. Martin. You have improved your opportunities 
in a most remarkable manner. Did you learn arith- 
metic ? 

Ellen. I guess I did. 

Mr. Martin. If it takes five men six days to dig a 
well, how long will it take one man ? 

Ellen. That's fractions. One-fifth of the time. 

Mr. Martin. You don't say so ! I'll go home and 
discharge four of the fellows at work on mine to- 
night. 

Mrs. Smith. There, Ellen! That's making eddica- 
tion of practical use, ain't it, neighbor? 

Mr. Martin. What else did you study, Nell? Geog- 
raphy ? 

Ellen. Yes, indeed. 

Mr. Martin. Where are the straits of Gibraltar? 

Ellen. In the same place they've been in all along. 

Mr. Martin. What bounds the United States? 

Ellen. Matrimony. 

Mr. Martin. What is a cape? 

Ellen. A garment ladies wear on their shoulders. 

Mr. Martin. What is the highest mountain in the 
world ? 

Ellen. The one whose top is nearest the sky. 

Mr. Martin. Did you learn to spell? 

Ellen. Of course I did. 

Mr. Martin. Spell cataract. 

Ellen. K — at — cat — a — cata — rac — k rack. 

Mr. Martin. Now spell ice cream. 

Ellen. I — s — k — r — e — m — e. 

Mr. Martin. Amazing! Did you learn mythology? 

Mrs. Smith. Indeed she did, neighbor. You can't 
puzzle her in the ologies and isms, can he, Nell? 

Ellen. No, indeed, mother. 

Mr. Martin. Who was Mercury? 



32 THE WONDERFUL SCHOLAR 

Ellen. Mercury — Mercury — oh, a New York Sun- 
day newspaper. I saw it once. I knew I knowed that 
name somehow. 

Mr. Martin. Can you tell me anything about Jupi- 
ter? 

Ellen. Jew Peter. Never heard tell on him. 

Mr. Martin. What do you know about Natural 
Philosophy ? 

Ellen. Know all about it, of course. 

Mr. Martin. When a circular object revolves on a 
horizontal plane, in what direction does the center of 
gravity move? 

Ellen. Hey? 

Mrs. Smith. Land, neighbor, don't puzzle her that 
ar.way. Ax her questions in English. 

Mr. Martin. Well, then, tell me, Ellen, when does a 
retreating object become invisible to the eye? 

Ellen. When it goes out of sight. 

Mrs. Smith. There, I knowed she could answer if 
you axed her right. She's larned a heap, ain't she, 
neighbor ? 

Mr. Martin. It is perfectly marvelous. I never 
saw anything like it. 

Ellen. I was crack scholar of that school. Head of 
the class when there wasn't nobody above me. 

Mr. Martin. When was that? 

Ellen. Mostly rainy days, when the other girls was 
not here. 

Mr. Martin. Well, be careful you don't overtax your 
brain, for it won't bear much more pressure. 

Mrs. Smith. Lor, neighbor! Is there any danger 
of her brains gitting weak? 

Mr. Martin. No, I don't think they will get weak. 

Mrs. Smith. That's a comfort. Some folks have 
awful rushes of brains to the head. 

Mr. Martin. She will never be troubled that way. 
But she had better be very careful of what brains she's 
got, or they may evaporate entirely. 

Mrs. Smith. I'll be very careful. Put away your 



THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD 33 

books, Ellen, and go feed the chickens. (Ellen goes 
out.) Nobody but a mother knows the trial of bringing 
up a wonderful scholar ! 

S. A. Frost. 



THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD 



CHARACTERS 

John. Henry. 

Thomas. Louis. 

Arthur. Peter. 
Joe. 

The boys all seated at their desks. A number of other 
boys at desks. John in the teacher's seat. 



John (striking desk with ruler). Silence! (In a 
loud voice.) 

Thomas. Nobody is making a noise but you. 

John. Silence, I tell you! (In a louder voice.) 

Henry. Set an example, if you want silence. 

John. Silence! (As loud as he can speak.) 

Louis. Silence ! 

All the Boys. Silence! 

John. Having produced silence from the whole of 
you, we will now proceed to the day's studies. First 
class in history! (All jump up.) Keep your seats, but 
answer the questions. (All sit down.) Who discovered 
America ? 

Henry. Peter the Hermit! 

Thomas. Queen Victoria ! 

Louis. Louis Napoleon ! 

Peter. Martin Van Buren ! 

Joe. Hail Columbia ! 

John. Was there ever such a set of blockheads? 






34, THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD 

Christopher Columbus discovered America — in — in — 
well, some time ago ! 

Henry. Bully for him! 

Thomas. Three cheers for Chris! (All cheer three 
times.) 

John. Silence! What do you mean by all this 
racket ? 

Louis. Give it up! 

John. Louis, you are so smart! Who beheaded 
Cromwell ? 

Louis. Oh! oh! oh! (All the boys echo s oh! oh! 
oh!) 

John. Stop that noise ! Louis, answer the question. 

Louis. I can't. 

John. Henry, you answer it! 

Henry. Never knew before he was beheaded! 

John. I never heard of such gross ignorance ! Never 
knew Charles the First was beheaded? 

Louis. You said Cromwell ! 

John. It's all the same thing. 

Henry. I bet Charles didn't think so ! 

John. Thomas, who beheaded Charles the First? 

Thomas. The executioner. 

John. Louis, what are you giggling about? 

Louis. I, sir? I was only smiling serenely. 

John. Go to the dunce stool. 

Louis. Certainly, sir. (Goes and sits on dunce 
stool.) 

John. Henry ! 

Henry. Here, sir. 

John. Hold your tongue, and tell me who was the 
first President of the United States? 

Henry. How can I tell you, if I hold my tongue ? 

John. Hold your tongue, sir, and answer me! 

Henry (holding his tongue with his fingers). John 
Jacob Astor. 

John. Who? Speak distinctly. 

Henry (letting his tongue go). Louis the Four- 
teenth ! 



THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD 35 

John. I am ashamed of you. Who was the father 
of his country? 

Henry. The son of its grandfather, sir. 

John. No levity, sir ! 

Henry. The husband of its mother, then. 

John. Go sit on the dunce stool, you blockhead ! 

{Henry sits in Louis's lap.) 

John. Thomas, do you know your geography lesson ? 

Thomas. You'll find out, when you hear it. 

John. Bound Maine. 

Thomas. Can't do it, sir. The boundless main is 
proverbial. 

John. Where are the Andes ? 

Thomas. All my aunties are at home, thank you, 
sir. 

John. How long is the Amazon River? 

Thomas. Just three inches, sir, on my map. It is 
rather longer on the map against the wall. 

John (sternly). I'll have no more nonsense! Where 
is Georgia? 

Thomas. Down South, and no nonsense about it ! 

John. Go to the dunce stool, sir. 

(Thomas goes and sits on Henry's lap.) 

John. Arthur, what is a conic section? 

Arthur. The most comic section I ever saw, sir, 
was in the Sunday papers, sir. 

John. Conic, Arthur! 

Arthur. Yes, sir: comic Arthur, if you will! 

John. Arthur, if ten tons of grain cost one hundred 
dollars, how many cattle will it feed ? 

Arthur. I don't believe the cat'll eat ten tons, sir. 
Our cat won't, anyhow. 

John. Arthur, you are too smart for this school. I 
shall be obliged to dismiss you. 

Arthur. Thank you! (Jumps up.) 

John. But first, you may sit an hour on the dunce 
stool. (Arthur sits on Thpmas's lap.) 

John. Peter, do you know your definitions? 

Peter. I don't know, sir. 



36 THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD 

John. Don't know what, your definitions ? 

Peter. I don't know if I know my definitions or no. 

John. Define Cosmopolitan. 

Peter. Cricky ! 

John. Not the proper definition. Go to the dunce 
stool. (Peter sits in Arthur's lap.) 

Louis. I say, John, it's getting rather heavy here. 
Some of you fellows come underneath. (Slips out, and 
they all fall down.) 

John. Order there! 

Henry. You undertook to order for all of us. 

John. Sit down, all of you! 

(All try for the stool, finally sit as before, Louis on 
Peter's lap, Henry on the stool.) 

John. Joseph ! 

Joe (in a squeaking voice) . That's me ! Short for 
Joe ! 

John. Joseph, what is a verb? 

Joe. Part of speech, sir. 

John. Very good! What part? 

Joe. The — the — verbal part! 

John. Oh, Joe! Joe! What a dunce you are! 

Henry. Oh, John ! John ! here comes the teacher ! 

(All hurry to their seats, and begin to study out loud.) 




Curtain. 



S. A. Frost. 




FOR THE TEMPERANCE CAUSE 37 

FOR THE TEMPERANCE CAUSE 



CHARACTERS 

Frank Dickson. 
Harry Bell. 
Willie Burns. 
Scene. — A room. Table C. Three chairs about it. 
Frank, Harry and Willie discovered seated. 



Frank. We are only little boys, but couldn't we do 
something in the temperance cause? 

Harry. I don't know what we could do. 

Willie. I know. We could learn temperance speeches 
and speak them, and maybe that would do some good. 

Frank. And we could sing temperance songs. 

Harry. But if we should learn temperance speeches 
and speak them, who would listen to us? 

Willie. Oh, we would have plenty of hearers. You 
know it would be a novelty to hear a boy speak in the 
temperance cause. 

Harry. And would you just have one speech? 

Willie. No, I'd have half a dozen, and I would try 
to speak them in such a way that everybody would listen. 

Frank. Couldn't we organize a little temperance 
society, and have speeches and songs and dialogues ? 

Willie. Yes, we can do that, too, but I want to learn 
a few speeches and go out and speak them to big people. 
I think they will listen to me because I am a boy, and 
maybe some drunkard will hear me and stop drinking. 
Oh ! I would like to do something in the temperance 
cause. I think it is awful for men to get drunk and 
come home and beat their wives and children, and if I 
can do anything to stop it I'm sure I am willing to com- 
mence and to try. I will speak a few lines to you 
now. When I commit a speech I will put them in so 
as to make my speech longer. (Speaks.) 



38 FOR THE TEMPERANCE CAUSE 

"Grief banished by wine will come again, 

And come with a deeper shade, 
Leaving, perchance, on the soul a stain 

Which sorrow hath never made. 
Then fill not the tempting glass for me, 

If mournful, I will not be mad ; 
Better sad, because we are sinful, 

Than sinful because we are sad!" 

Harry. That's a very nice speech. Now I will speak 
one I learned some time ago. The name of my speech 
is "The Victim." 



"A poor old man with haggard face 

And hair as white as snow, 
Lay on a heap of dirty straw, 

His life pulse beating slow. 
Sometimes he sighed, 'I want to rest ! 

There's no one cares for me — 
I dreamed of dear old friends — I woke 

To friendless misery !' 

There comes a change — the pallid face 

Is flushed with purple now, 
His wild eyes Stare, and hard, deep lines 

Are marked across his brow. 
'They come !' he cries — 'they come again ! 

Oh, take them out of .sight! 
Must these things watch all day? I thought 

They only came by night!' 

'The loathsome serpents winding crawl, 

All slimy o'er the floor- — ■ 
The death's head, with its sockets dry, 

Stares in at yonder door !' 
'At last, with adder's tongue of fire, 

It stings,' the wise man said — 
'And biteth with its serpent tooth!' — 

There lies its victim — dead! 1 * 




FOR THE TEMPERANCE CAUSE 39 

Willie. That's a very good speech, and you speak 
it well. When we get our Temperance society organized 
you can give us a speech every night. Frank, can you 
recite a temperance poem? 

Frank. No, I have never learned any temperance 
poems, but I can repeat part of a temperance lecture 
which was delivered by the celebrated poetess and elo- 
quent speaker, Miss Julia Crouch. Here it is: — 
(Speaks.) 

"There are many who object to women's raising their 
voices against or in favor of anything which concerns 
the masses. They believe that they must not be heard 
outside of their own and their neighbors' houses, except 
when they oblige them to appear in court and in the 
presence of perhaps a thousand people, tell their story 
and be questioned by the lawyers as they see fit. But 
when a woman stands up voluntarily and tries to per- 
suade people to be true and noble; when her heart 
prompts her to speak the truth that it may be more 
universal, then you will hear men talking about woman's 
sphere and questioning her ability. What can a woman 
do more noble, more elevating, more praiseworthy, more 
heroic, more needful, more womanly, than to use her 
voice and her powers in speaking against intemper- 
ance? 

"Whom does it concern if not her? If men will cease 
to drink ; if they will rouse themselves to vigorous action 
and sweep away intemperance, women will not spend 
their time nor their talents in speaking against it. But 
so long as saloon keepers deal out the deadly beverage 
which makes men beastly instead of manly; so long as 
men beat their wives and starve their children, so long 
as women are obliged to work to support themselves and 
their drunken husbands; so long as intemperate sons 
cause their mothers to go down in sorrow to their graves ; 
so long as women have women's hearts and intemperance 
is aiming such a deadly blow to destroy their loved ones 
and their country, just so long will they implore and 
beseech men to be temperate." 



40 FOR THE TEMPERANCE CAUSE 

Harry. That is a very eloquent speech. Who did 
you say was the author of it? 

Frank. Miss Julia Crouch, the celebrated temper- 
ance lecturer. 

Harry. Does she lecture now ? 

Frank. No, I believe not. 

Harry. I am sorry she has stopped lecturing. A 
lady who can write such a speech or lecture as that can 
certainly do a great deal of good. 

Willie. I mean to be a great temperance lecturer 
when I get to be a man, but I am going to learn to 
speak temperance speeches now. I think I can do some 
good in that way. 

Frank. Yes, we can all do something. Of course 
boys can't do as much as men and great temperance 
lecturers, but they can have meetings and they can speak 
temperance speeches and sing temperance songs and they 
can do something for the cause. I have been reading 
some awful things about drunken men starving and 
whipping their wives and children, and I think every- 
body ought to try to do something to put a stop to 
drunkenness and crime. 

Harry. I'll tell you what I mean to do. You know 
Mr. Jones? 

Frank and Willie. Yes. 

Harry. Well, I intend to go to him and ask him to 
stop drinking. He is always very kind and very pleas- 
ant when he is sober, but when he drinks whisky he is 
very foolish. I am going to ask him to stop drinking 
and maybe I'll speak a speech to him. 

Frank. Who shall we ask to join our society? 

Willie. Let us have Johnny Dean and Fred Grayson 
and Charley Wilson and Willie Ray and — oh, we might 
have all the boys. 

Frank. I'll go and tell Johnny Dean about it now. 

Harry. And I'll go and tell Fred Grayson and 
Charley Wilson. 

Frank (commences to sing and is joined by the oth- 
ers). 



AN EDITOR'S TRIALS 41 

"Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, 
Hurrah, for the temperance cause/' 

{They all go out while singing.) 

Curtain. 
/ McBride. 

AN EDITOR'S TRIALS 

A Comic Dialogue 



CHARACTERS 

Mr. Collington Clipper, Editor of the Daily Dis- 
torter. 

Leonidas Leadwell, His Foreman. 

Hon. Horatio Testy, A distinguished Citizen. 

Beverly Sponger, An impecunious Penny-a-liner. 

Boy, Printer's Devil. 
Scene. — The Editor's room. Mr. Clipper discovered 

at a table, on which sundry papers are scattered about, 

leaning bach in his chair abstractedly. He looks at 

his watch. 



Clip. Hum — Nine o'clock — {rings a small handbell. 
Enter Boy). Take this copy to Mr. Leadwell, and say 
that I wish to see him if he can step down. {Exit Boy.) 
This will not do, no copy yet from Doleful, and not an 
item from Makeup ! — It is of no use hesitating. I must 
write something, but what that something is to be about 
I have no more idea than that boy. 
Reenter Boy. 

Boy. Mr. Leadwell says he has given out all his 
copy, sir, and he is coming down hisself for more, sir. 

Clip. Hisself! Himself, you ungrammatical young 
scoundrel; is it not enough to be troubled both in body 
and mind, without the additional torture of your vaga- 
ries? Vanish, you imp of darkness! {Exit Boy.) 



42 AN EDITOR'S TRIALS 

No news — nothing to make a single par. of. {Looks 
over papers hurriedly.) 

Enter Mr. Leadwell. 

Lead. Anything more ready, Mr. Clipper? 

Clip. What do you want yet to complete, Leadwell? 

Lead. Three columns and a half, sir. 

Clip. The deuce! No fresh ads.? 

Lead. No, all in, sir, dummies and all. 

Clip. What standing matter have you? 

Lead. Not a line, sir, all used up. 

Clip. Is "Slaves of the Oar" still on the galley? 

Lead. No, distributed last week. 

Clip. Then you have really nothing at all? 

Lead. Nothing, and tne men standing. 

Clip. Here then, take this "Romantic Suicide," and 
this "Singular Dream" to go on with. I will ring when 
I have more. (Exit Leadwell.) I really must 
do something. (Writes.) "A distinguished Senator, 
whose name we are not at present at liberty 
to divulge, has had a prolonged interview with 
the President, and it is confidently whispered in cer- 
tain circles that great and important changes will be 
eventually made somewhere, which changes may be ex- 
pected to take place at any time. We shall, however, 
take care to be on the qui vive for further information, 
which we shall be happy to lay before our readers." 

Enter Leadwell. 

Lead. There is a long police report just come in 
about a charge of kleptomania against a well known 
citizen's daughter — shall I use it at length? 

Clip. Yes, certainly, and head it "Singular and 
Mysterious Charge of Theft — a Distinguished Citizen's 
Daughter in Trouble !" And, by-the-bye, Leadwell, 
you may as well double-lead the leaders. 

Lead. There is also an explosion from Doleful, with 
fifteen lives lost. 

Clip. You may head that — "Terrific Explosion! 



AN EDITOR'S TRIALS 43 

Upwards of Twenty Lives Lost!" and we must put in 
a contradictory par. with further particulars — stay, this 
will do. {Writes.) "We are happy to inform our 
readers that the first received account of this disaster, 
which has desolated so many homes, was much exag- 
gerated; we have much pleasure in being now in a 
position to state confidently that the number of un- 
fortunate people who have lost their lives will not ex- 
ceed fifteen." Here, take it with you. {Exit Lead- 
well.) 

I never knew such an absolute dearth of news in 
the whole course of my lengthy experience. There is 
nothing new. By-the-bye, it will read like a piece of 
news to announce that there is nothing to tell. {Writes.') 
"We have never, in the whole course of our long ex- 
perience, known so barren a time as the present. There 
is not a single item of foreign news of importance, 
and the old standing items have been so garbled and 
twisted about in every form and variety of sentence to 
make them still readable, that it is impossible to put 
another new face on them. Whether this profound 
calm may be only the harbinger of a coming storm, or 
not, we do not know. The attitude of Russia is the 
same, there is no change in the political situation in 
Great Britain, Germany is still in her old position, 
Austria is unchanged, France is unaltered, Italy stands 
as she did, and the rest of Europe has not moved. If 
we turn our eyes to the republics of South America, we 
find the same unaltered appearance ; we will pursue this 
painful theme no longer, but merely remark, in con- 
clusion, that a few days or even hours may justify our 
most anxious apprehensions." {Knock at the door.) 
Come in. 

Enter Beverly Sponger. 

Ah, Sponger, how are you? Anything new? 

Sponger. Yes. I think I can let you have an item 
or two. I see you made use of the information I gave 
you of the death of the Hon. Horatio Testy yesterday. 



44 AN EDITOR'S TRIALS 

Have you heard of the most singular manner in which 
he has bequeathed his wealth? 

Clip. No. 

Sponger. Oh, by the way, I promised to escort a 
party to the opera to-morrow evening, perhaps you will 
oblige me with your pass for the occasion. 

Clip. With pleasure. (Gives it.) But this be- 
quest, Sponger? 

Sponger. Oh, the old fool has cut his only son off 
with a small annuity, and left his enormous estate, with 
all the personals, to — But you could never guess, it 
is perfectly startling. 

Clip. Is it such a surprise — to whom? 

Sponger. To build a temple to Buddha in Boston. 

Clip. Great Heavens ! (Makes a hurried memoran- 
dum.) 

Sponger. I can give you another item. I have just 
heard that four brothers are to marry four sisters, in 
this city, next May. They are members of the first 
families. This item is only known to myself and a 
few other privileged persons — so mum is the word — 
you know. Dear me, I had almost forgotten — can you 
spare me your ticket for Wallack's to-morrow, and I 
intend visiting the Encore Music Hall on Friday, so 
you may as well let me have that also. Of course, I 
need not tell you to keep dark about the small items 
of private information I have given you, as a friend; 
oh, those are the tickets, thanks, good-evening. (Exit 
Sponger.) 

Clip. It takes me all my time to look after those 
eternal press tickets; I forget who has them, I must 
make a mem. of it. (Writes in a pocket-book.) Hallo 
— back again! 

Reenter Sponger. 

Sponger. I had almost forgotten to mention the busi- 
ness I came specially about. I am very fond of fried 
oysters, and Mr. Samuel Dolton has opened a restau- 
rant, 220 Broadway, where he retails those charming 



AN EDITOR'S TRIALS 45 

edibles at thirty cents a dozen, and I promised to pro- 
cure him a small paragraph in your paper, here it is — 
(gives paper) — just give it as prominent a position 
as you can. (Exit Sponger.) 

Clip, There is something very mysterious about 
Sponger, he knows everything and everybody, and yet 
all he tells you he wishes you to keep secret, and goes 
about telling the same secret to everyone else, until you 
hear it again as a secret from some outsider, who ab- 
solutely expects a consideration for privately com- 
municating a piece of news that you have been in 
possession of for a month. What is this par. he wishes 
to have inserted? (Reads.) "The public will be ex- 
tremely rejoiced when they have realized the fact that 
Mr. Dolton, who is a most indefatigable philanthropist, 
has opened a restaurant in the popular thoroughfare 
of Broadway, where they may at any time luxuriate in 
the fried bivalves, for the minimum charge of thirty 
cents a dozen. We consider this to be a real boon 
to our citizens, and thank Mr. Dolton for having made 
at least one step in the right direction." Hum — this 
ought to be paid for as an ad., but I suppose I shall 
have to use it as a fill-up to oblige Sponger. So be it. 
— Now for his other item of information. (JV rites.) 
"A rumor has just reached us, from a most reliable 
source, to the effect that a most extraordinary event 
is shortly to occur in the fashionable circles of this city. 
Four of our prominent society men — brothers — are to 
lead to the altar four charming sisters in the merry 
month of May. It is said there is considerable ro- 
mance connected with the affair, and when the particu- 
lars are known, the quartette wedding will be more 
than a nine days' wonder. The statement that a clergy- 
man has been hired to do the "job" for a lump sum 
has no foundation in fact. We do not wish to boast 
of our means of information on this subject; but our 
readers may rely upon this being undoubtedly correct, 
although in its detail, strictly a secret at present. Suf- 
ficient has been said to put our readers on the qui vive, 



46 AN EDITOR'S TRIALS 

and we shall take care, in their interests, to give the 
matter all the publicity it deserves when time shall 
serve." 

Enter Boy. 

Boy. Copy, sir! 

Clip. Yes, thou moving terror, take these two 
papers. (Exit Boy.) (Writes again.) "We under- 
stand, from the best authority, that the late 
eccentric Horatio Testy, whose lamentable decease 
we so regretfully announced in our yesterday's is- 
sue, has bequeathed his large property in a most 
singular, not to say reprehensible manner, hav- 
ing entirely disinherited his only son (whom we believe 
to be a most exemplary young gentleman), and left, in 
trust, that vast wealth which was due to his son in all 
righteousness and equity, to build a magnificent Temple 
to Buddha, in the city of Boston. We shall speak more 
fully of this matter on a future occasion, meanwhile 
we advise the worthy son of a most eccentric father 
to contest the validity of the will, as any court would 
doubtless set aside a bequest at once so unreasonable 
and so wickedly insane." 

Enter Boy. 

Boy. Copy, sir — Mr. Leadwell says — 

Clip. Ha, thou incubus ! here, take this — vanish. 
Stay, what hadst thou for dinner to-day? 

Boy. Mackerel, sir. 

Clip. Here then. (Writes.) "Mackerel are just 
now in season, and are cheap and plentiful. We are 
glad to announce the fact, as they furnish, with the 
help of a few potatoes, a very wholesome and econom- 
ical dinner for the poorer classes." Take this also and 
begone. (Exit Boy.) 

Enter Hon. Horatio Testy. 

Testy. Are you the editor of this scandalous pub- 
lication I hold in my hand, sir? 






AN EDITOR'S TRIALS 47 

Clip. I am the editor of the Daily Distorter, sir, 
I believe. 

Test. Then I come to demand an apology from you 
for one of the grossest falsehoods ever issued from the 
public press. 

Clip. You must be most signally mistaken, sir ; there 
is not an item of news or general information inserted 
in the Daily Distorter which is not founded upon the 
most undisputed authority. 

Test. Then you would have me believe that the un- 
disputed authority of your paltry publication knows 
more of a man's affairs than he does himself, sir; is 
that it? 

Clip. By no means, sir. I only wish to impress 
upon you the fact that all our information is derived 
from the parties most interested therein, which source 
cannot be well doubted. 

Test. I should like to know from what source this 
paragraph was derived. Read that, sir. (Points out 
a paragraph.) 

Clip, (reads). "Death of Horatio Testy. We re- 
gret to announce the sudden death of our esteemed 
townsman, Horatio Testy, who expired after dinner yes- 
terday in a sudden fit of apoplexy. The deceased gen- 
tleman, who has filled numerous offices of trust in this 
city, was universally known and highly respected, and 
his death will leave a hiatus which it will take many 
years to fill." Well, sir? 

Test. Well, sir! Whose authority had you for this 
paragraph ? 

Clip. The best authority, sir; it came from an in- 
timate friend of Mr. Testy's family — what is more, sir, 
you will not only find a confirmation of the sad event 
in to-morrow's issue, but also a statement of the man- 
ner in which he has bequeathed his vast wealth, which 
will surprise you. 

Test. It will, indeed. Am I asking too much in 
requesting to be prematurely enlightened upon that sub- 
ject? _ 



48 AN EDITOR'S TRIALS 

Clip. Not at all, sir, it will be before the public 
to-morrow. 

Test. Then perhaps you will kindly give me the 
information ? 

Clip. With pleasure. In the first place he has en- 
tirely disinherited his only son, who is one of the most 
promising young men in the city. 

Test . Indeed ! 

Clip. I assure you, sir, the fact is past doubt. He 
has left all his estates to erect a magnificent Temple to 
Buddha, in the city of Boston. 

Test. What, at Boston? 

Clip. At Boston. What is your opinion of the san- 
ity of a man who makes such a foolish bequest? 

Test. What is your opinion of the sanity of a man 
who tells such an improbable story, or the sanity of an 
editor who gives such a tirade of falsehood publicity ? 

Clip. Sir, I do not sit here to be insulted with im- 
punity. 

Test. Nor do I stand here to listen to such twad- 
dle; am I to understand that the Buddha story will ap- 
pear in the Daily Distorter? 

Clip. Most certainly; the information we have re- 
ceived is from a privileged friend of the late Mr. Testy. 

Test. I'll be hanged, sir, if your friend is more 
privileged than I am. 

Clip. Permit me to doubt the fact, sir. 

Test. Doubt the fact! Why, you're all a doubt, 
your whole publication is a doubt; do you think I do 
not know whether I am alive or dead? 

Clip. What do you mean, sir? 

Test. I mean that I am Horatio Testy. (Clipper 
starts up.) Do I look like a dead man? 

Clip. You — you — you are Hon. Horatio Testy? 

Test. Undoubtedly, sir. 

Clip. And are you sure you are not dead ? 

Test. Dead! I'm not only alive, but I shall be kick- 
ing if I can only find out the author of the scandalous 
statement. My wife has been so pestered with under- 



AN EDITOR'S TRIALS 49 

takers' cards, and applications from mourning estab- 
lishments, that I conscientiously wish that all such peo- 
ple were bequeathed, instead of my money, to the Tem- 
ple of Buddha. 

Clip. I can only express my sincere regret, Mr. 
Testy, that the announcement, which I now see to be 
entirely without foundation, should have appeared in 
our paper, but I cannot consistently divulge the name 
of my informant, who may have been as much mis- 
taken as myself. It is not the custom of newspapers 
to make public any private source of information, and 
as the offensive paragraph will be at once withdrawn, 
and the former announcement contradicted to-morrow, 
I presume that it will be quite sufficient to meet your 
wishes. 

Test. Let me advise you in future to be more care- 
ful in accepting such gratuitous information. Good- 
morning, sir. {Exit Hon. Horatio Testy.') 

Clipper rings bell. Enter Boy. 

Clip. Inform Mr. Leadwell that I wish to see him 
as soon as possible. {Exit Boy.) This is a mis- 
fortune! I wish he had not come until to-morrow; 
the announcement concerning the eccentric will, 
and its contradiction afterwards, would have sold 
a few thousands extra. Well! we must make the best 
of it. (Writes.) "We cannot sufficiently regret hav- 
ing given publicity to an unfounded rumor of the death 
of the Hon. Horatio Testy, yesterday. Contrary to 
our usual system we gave immediate insertion to the 
report of an event which, had it been truth, would, we 
are aware, have been deeply deplored by the general 
public. We usually wait for a confirmation of such 
tidings, but the supposed event was so appalling, and 
so important to all our readers, that we, for once, de- 
parted from our usual course, against our better judg- 
ment. We are, however, happy to say that the gen- 
tleman in question is not only living, but in the en- 
joyment of the most perfect health, as we can per- 



50 AN EDITOR'S TRIALS 

sonally testify, having been honored by a friendly call 
from him this day. We are only too happy in the 
knowledge of being able to depend upon his known 
talents, public integrity, and private virtues, for some 
time longer. Verbum sap." 

Enter Leadwell. 

Clip. Ha, Leadwell, have you set the par. about 
the Hon. Horatio Testy? 

Lead. Yes, sir. 

Clip. Then dis it again. He is not dead at all. 
I wonder what Sponger was doing to bring such a 
piece of news? 

Lead. One of his mysteries, I suppose. "The 
Woman with Two Heads" has not been used yet, and 
I have got an "Escaped Mermaid" in type. 

Clip. Use them; here is something else about Hon. 
Horatio Testy. By-the-bye, here's the "Chinese Am- 
bassador," which has been waiting for a week — use it. 

Lead. I want two or three short pars, to fill up the 
columns. 

Clip. I will send them. (Exit Leadwell.) (Writes.) 
"A cave of wolves was discovered in Kansas the 
other day, and one hundred shot in one day. The sur- 
prising part of this statement is that the intrepid jour- 
nalist who discovered the cave did not kill one thousand 
wolves while he was about it." That will do for one 
item. 

"A scientific gent has discovered that if you blow 
on a scorpion in a vertical direction it will lie motion- 
less. If the scientific gent will plant his shoe gently 
but firmly on the scorpion; it will also lie motionless, 
and for a much longer time." That will do for an- 
other. 

"If this hot weather continues much longer, we shall 
be in great want of rain. The farmers are sure to make 
an outcry about it if there is not an alteration shortly." 
(Rings bell.) 



j 



WINNING A WIDOW 51 

Enter Boy. 

Here, take these. (Exit Boy.) 

He should be full by this. (Leans back in his chair 
and takes out his watch.) Just in time to — 

Enter Boy. 

Clip, (takes up a book). What now, vampire? 

Boy. Mr. Leadwell wants — 

Clip. Avaunt! (Flings book at him.) What 
wants he more? 

Boy. He wants nothing more, sir, he's got half a 
column too much, he says. 

Clip. Away then to thy nest. (Exit Boy.) Thank 
heaven I can now rest and have a little peace. (Puts 
on his hat and exit.) 

Curtain. 



WINNING A WIDOW 



CHARACTERS 

Mrs. Cummiskey, A middle-aged widow. 
Mr. Costello, An old bachelor. 

Scene. — Mrs. C.'s dwelling. Table set. Mr. C. 
outside. 



Mr. C. Good-evenin' to you, ma'am. 

'Mrs. C. Good-evenin' to you, Mr. Costello. 

Mr. C. It's fine. weather we're havin', ma'am. 

Mrs. C. It is that, thank God, but the winter's 
comin' at last, and it comes to all, both great and small. 

Mr. C. Ah! but for all that it doesn't come to all 
alike. Now here are you, ma'am, fat, rosy, and good- 
lookin', equally swate as a summer greenin', a fall 
pippin or a winter russet — 



52 WINNING A WIDOW 

Mrs. C. Arrah, hould your whist, now. Much an 
old bachelor like you knows about apples or women. 
But come in, Mr. Costello, an' take a cup o' tay with 
me, for I was only standin' be the door lookin' at the 
people passin' for company sake, like, and I'm sure 
the kittle must have sung itself hoarse. (Mr. C. enters 
and sits.) 

Mr. C. It's very cozy ye are here, Mrs. Cummin 
key. 

Mrs. C, Yes. (Lays the supper.) It is that whin 
I do be havin' company. 

Mr. C. Ah! it must be lonesome for you with only 
yer cat and the cup o' tay. 

Mrs. C. Sure it is. But sit up to the table, Mr. 
Costello. Help yourself to this fish, and don't furget 
the purtaties. Look at them: they're splittin' their 
sides wid laughin'. (She pours tea.) 

Mr. C. I'm sensible of the comforts of a home, 
Mrs. Cummiskey, though I've none meself. Mind now, 
the difference between the taste o' tay macle and sarved 
that way and the tay they gives you in an aitin'-house. 

Mrs. C. Sure there's nothin' like a little home of 
yer own. I wonder yer never got marrit, Mr. Cos- 
tello. 

Mr. C. I was about "to make the same remark in 
rifference to yerself, ma'am. 

Mrs. C. God help us, aren't I a widder woman this 
seven years? 

Mr. C. Ah, but it's thinkin' I was why ye didn't 
get marrit again? 

Mrs. C. Well, it's sure I am (thoughtfully setting 
down her teacup and raising her hand by way of em- 
phasis), there was no betther husband to any woman 
than him that's dead and gone, heaven save an' rest 
his sowl. He was that asy a child could do anything 
wid him, and he was as humorous as a monkey. You 
favor him very much, Mr. Costello. He was about your 
height, and complicted like you. 

Mr. C. Ah! 



WINNING A WIDOW 53 

Mrs. C. He often used to say to me in his banterin* 
way, Sure, Nora, what's the woruld to a man whin his 
wife is a widder, manin', you know, that all the timpta- 
tions and luxuries of this life can never folly a man 
beyant the grave. Sure, Nora, says he, what's the 
woruld to a man whin his wife's a widder? 

Mr. C. It was a sensible sayin' that. (Helping 
himself to more fish.) 

Mrs. C. I mind the day John died. He knew 
everything to the last, and about four o'clock in the 
afthernoon — it was seventeen minutes past five exactly, 
be the clock, that he died — he says to me, Nora, says he, 
you've been a good wife, says he, an' I've been a good 
husband, says he, an' so there's no love lost atween us, 
says he, an' I could give ye a good characthur to any 
place, says he, an' I wish ye could do the same for me 
where I'm goin', says he; but it's case equal, says he, 
an' every dog has his day, an' some has a day an' a 
half, says he, an' says he, I'll know more in a bit 
than Father Corrigan himself, says he, but I'll say 
now, says he, that I've always been a true son of the 
Church, says he, so I'll not bother my brains about it; 
an' he says, says he, I lave ye in good hands, Nora, for 
I lave you in your hands, says he; an* if at any time 
ye see any wan ye like betther nor me, marry him, 
says he. Ah, Nora, says he, for the first time spakin' 
it solemn like, ah, Nora, what's the woruld to a man 
whin his wife's a widder? An' says he, I lave fifty 
dollars for masses, and the rest I lave to yourself, said 
he, an' I needn't tell ye to be a good mother to the 
childer', says he, for well ye know there are none. Ah, 
poor John ! Will ye have another cup of tay, Mr. Cos- 
tello? 

Mr. C. It must have been very hard on ye (passing 
cup). Thank ye, ma'am, no more. 

Mrs. C. It was hard, but time will tell. I must cast 
about me for my own livin'; and so I got intil this 
place an' here I am to-day. (Both rise from the table 
and seat themselves before the fire.) 



54 WINNING A WIDOW 

Mr. C. Ah! an' here we are both of us this 
evenin'. 

Mrs. C. Here we are, sure enough. 

Mr. C. And so I mind ye of — of him, do I? 

Mrs. C. That ye do. Ye favor him greatly. Dark 
complicted, an' the same plisint smile. 

Mr. C. Now, with me sittin' here an' you sittin' 
there f erninst me, ye might almost think ye were marrit 
agin. (Insinuatingly.) 

Mrs. C. Ah, go away now for a taze that ye are. 
(Mussing her apron by rolling the corners of it.) 

Mr. C. I disremember what it was ye said about 
seem' any man you liked betther nor him. (Moving 
his chair nearer to that of the widow.) 

Mrs. C. He said, said he (smoothing her apron over 
her knees), Nora, said he, if anny time ye see anny 
man ye like betther nor me, marry him, says he. 

Mr. C. Did he say anything about anny one ye 
liked as good as him? 

Mrs. C. I don't* mind that he did. (Reflectively, 
folding her hands in her lap.) 

Mr. C. I suppose he left that to yerself ? 

Mrs. C. Faith, an' I don't know, thin. 

Mr. C. Div ye think ye like me as well as ye did 
him? (Persuasively, leaning forward to look into the 
widow's eyes, which are cast down.) 

Mrs. C. Ah, go away now for a taze. 

(Straightening herself and playfully slapping Mr. 
Costello on the face. He moves his chair still nearer, 
and puts his arm around her waist.) 

Mr. C. Tell me, div ye like me as well as ye did 
him? 

Mrs. C. I — I most — I most disremember now how 
much I liked him. (Embarrassed.) 

Mr. C. Ah, now, don't be breakin' me heart. An- 
swer me this question, Mrs. Cummiskey — Is your heart 
tender toward me? 

Mrs. C. It is (whispers) , an' there, now ye have it. 

Mr. C. Glory! (Kisses her.) 



A CLOSE SHAVE 55 

Mrs. C. But, James, ye haven't told me yet how ye 
liked yer tay? 

Mr. C. Ah, Nora, me jewel, the taste of that first 
kiss would take away the taste of all the tay that ever 
was brewed. 



A CLOSE SHAVE 



CHARACTERS 



John Marsh, A bachelor. 
Tony, His valet. 



Costumes. — Marsh, pajama suit, cotton night cap, 
slippers. Tony, trousers, short white jacket, slippers. 

Scene. — A bachelor s bedroom. Door, right. In cen- 
ter, bach, a bed screened by curtains parting in the 
middle. Left, a toilet table. Right, a small table, 
chair, shaving materials, etc. 

As the curtain rises, a clock strikes ten. 



Marsh (in bed, with a cotton night-cap on, thrusts 
his head out between the curtains). I wonder what hour 
the clock struck just now. Where's that rascal? 
(Calls.) Tony! Tony! 

Tony (outside). Aye, aye, sir! 

Marsh (calls). What time is it? 

Tony (outside). Don't know! 

Marsh (calls). Go and see, you numbskull! 

Tony (outside, yawns). I'm in bed. 

Marsh (calls). Get up! Quick, now! 

Tony (outside). Aye, aye, sir! 

Marsh (speaks). That's the laziest fellow I ever 
saw. I make him sleep in the next room so as to be 
within call. Without exception he is about the sleep- 
iest fellow I ever met, and as stupid as a donkey, but 



56 A CLOSE SHAVE 

with all his clumsiness he is faithful and puts up with 
all my impatience and, sometimes, ill temper. (Pause.) 
What can he be about? (Calls.) Tony!! 

Tony (outside). Aye, aye, sir! 

Marsh (calls). Do you want me to come and shake 
you up? What time is it? 

Tony (outside). Ten o'clock. 

Marsh (speaks). Ten! Great Caesar! I am to be 
married at eleven, and my best man is to be here at 
half past ten. (Calls.) Tony! 

Tony (outside). Aye, aye, sir! 

Marsh (calls angrily). Why didn't you call me an 
hour ago? 

Tony (outside). Had no orders! 

Marsh (calls). Didn't you know I was to be mar- 
ried this morning? 

Tony (outside). Never told me so! 

Marsh (calls). Never told you! Didn't you know 
it? 

Tony (outside). Never know nothing but what I'm 
told. 

Marsh (calls). Well, you confounded fool, I tell 
you now! Do you hear me? 

Tony (outside). Aye, aye, sir! 

Marsh (calls impatiently). Quick, now! Bring in 
my clothes and shoes. Hurry, — come and help me 
dress. (Gets out of bed.) 

Tony (outside). Aye, aye, sir! 

Marsh (speaks excitedly). Oh, if I only had time, 
I'd trounce you, my fine fellow. Ah ! I must shave, 
I'd better begin at once — no hot water — no matter — 
(lathers his face). The idea of sleeping so late on 
one's wedding day! I wonder what Anna Maria 
would say? Anna Maria (musingly) — nice girl, tall, 
rather dark, but then — richest heiress in Podunk — so 
her father says. Met her at Rockaway — wild waves 
— beach by moonlight — spoons for two — the old story. 
Oh! — soap in my eye! How it smarts! (Calls.) 
Tony! 



A CLOSE SHAVE 57 

Tony {outside). Aye, aye, sir! 

Marsh {calls). Aye, aye! Come here, you scamp, 
and wipe my eye! 

Tony {outside'). Can't do it. I'm brushing your 
coat. 

Marsh {speaks, excitedly) . Oh, if I only had time ! 
I'd brush you! 

Enter Tony. 

Tony. Here I am! 

Marsh. What's the matter now? 
'Tony. I've come to wipe your eye. 

Marsh {excited). Oh! If I only had time! Turn 
round, you villain! 

Tony. Aye, aye, sir. {Turns his bach to Marsh, 
•who gives him a kick.) Ah! {Laughs.) Ain't he 
quaint ! 

Marsh. Off with you! fetch my clothes. {Exit 
Tony.) 

Yes, she's a daisy. Her father promised me a splen- 
did four-story house in Podunk as a wedding pres- 
ent. Luckily, I have a friend there, a lawyer, to whom 
I wrote, asking him to find out and tell me all about 
her, — and the house, of course. I've had no answer 
yet, but I suppose it's all right. The old man was a 
really nice, good-natured fellow. He was so particular 
in asking me all about myself, my means and pros- 
pects. He said that Anna Maria was so sensitive, so 
amiable, and had received many offers, but had never 
appeared to be favorably impressed by any of her suit- 
ors until now. There was almost a tear in his eye 
when he thought of having to part with her, but her 
happiness was his whole object in life. I assured him 
that I would do all in my power to make her life a 
happy one. And yet, I wish I had news from Podunk. 

Enter Tony. 

Tony. Here I am. 

Marsh. What have you got now? 



58 A CLOSE SHAVE 

Tony. Your hat and cane — 

Marsh. Blockhead! Do you suppose I need to be 
married with a cane? Oh! If I only had time! Turn 
round ! 

Tony. Aye, aye, sir! {Turns round.') 

Marsh (kicks him). There! Now fetch my clothes. 

Tony (aside). Ah! (Laughs.) Ain't he quaint! 
(Starts toward door, returns.) Oh, I forgot — here's 
a letter for you. 

Marsh (impatient). Put it on the table/and fetch 
my razor — hurry, now. 

Tony. Which razor? The white handle, or the 
black handle — or, perhaps — 

Marsh (enraged). Any razor, you dolt! Off with 
you. (Exit Tony; reenters in a hurry.) 

Tony. Here's your razor. 

Marsh (commencing to shave). Say, Tony, are you 
going to keep that j acket on you all day ? 

Tony. No — Sir! I'm going to take it off — soon 
going to bed again — 

Marsh (starts; cuts his face). Back to bed? Oh! 
I've cut myself! 

Tony. That's nothing, let it bleed. 

Marsh. Be off with you, put on your new livery. 
You'll have to ride on the box with the driver. It will 
look well, you know. 

Tony. But, sir — 

Marsh. I'll give you ten minutes to change your 
clothes. Now — fly, or I'll massacre you. (Exit Tony.) 
It's dreadful to have to hurry so; confound it! 
There's another gash ! How it bleeds ! Hang the razor. 
(Dashes it on the floor.) Now I'll have to wait till 
these gashes stop bleeding. (Sits down.) 

Enter Tony. 

Tony. Here's your clothes — 

Marsh. Put them on that chair, and — 

Tony. You seem in a desperate hurry to get mar-' 
ried. . 



A CLOSE SHAVE 59 

Marsh. Hurry, indeed! and people waiting for me. 

Tony. I got married once. 

Marsh. You? Well, I declare! 

Tony. Yes. But it was a failure — an awful fizzle. 
(Sits down.) Oh, a distressing story. You see, I mar- 
ried a girl from 'way down Alabama. Sweet as a ripe 
orange, and about the same complexion. Oh, she was 
a bloomer! 

Marsh. Orange — and a bloomer — a complete wed- 
ding wreath, ready made. Did she fade? What sep- 
arated you? 

Tony. Only a little difference of taste and opinion. 

Marsh. That seems rather a slender excuse for such 
an important step as separation between man and wife. 

Tony. Slender! not so slender as you think. Do 
you chew tobacco? 

Marsh. I? Well, occasionally. 

Tony. Occasionally? This is about the first time 
I've seen you without it in your mouth. Well, now — 
suppose your future bride had an abhorrence of tobacco, 
and asked you to give up the nasty habit. 

Marsh. I think I would, without hesitation. She 
certainly would think I had very little love for her if 
I didn't. 

Tony. That was about the trouble with us. 

Marsh. What? Did you chew tobacco, and refused 
to quit it? 

Tony. Not much! The shoe was on the other foot. 

Marsh. You don't say! What! she — chewed? 

Tony. She ate garlic, — was dreadfully fond of it. 
I can't bear the horrible stuff. The third day after 
our wedding, I said, Seraphina Maria — shut down on 
the garlic. Choose for yourself, — Anthony and bliss, 
or garlic and divorce. She chose the garlic, and that 
ended it. Say! does the future Mrs. Marsh like garlic? 

Marsh. You impudent beggar ! Get out of this ! 
Be off and dress yourself. Oh ! If I only had time ! 
Here! Turn around. 

Tony. Aye, aye, sir. (Turns his back to Marsh 






60 A CLOSE SHAVE 

icho kicks him.) Holy smoke ! (Aside.) Ain't he 
quaint! (Exit Tony.) 

Marsh. Gracious ! These gashes will never stop 
Heeding. Oh! the letter! I forgot all about it. 
(Takes letter, opens and reads.) "My dear Marsh" — 
(speaks) from the Podunk lawyer; just in time; let's 
see what he says. (Reads.) "I hasten to reply to 
your inquiries about the young lady, and the house you 
mention." (Speaks.) I had no idea that I was a 
nervous man, but at this crisis, this turning-point in 
my life, I actually tremble at the perusal of words 
that may seal my fate irrevocably. Be still, my heart ! 
Now for the report from Podunk. My sight grows 
dim, but courage! (Reads.) "The house is not a 
four-story one by any means; who ever said so added, 
not only one, but three stories to its real dimensions. 
It boasts of just one, in fact, a shanty, and in the last 
stages of dilapidation." (Speaks.) Jerusalem! 
(Reads.) "The young lady in question is by no means 
deficient in stories of another and rather unsavory kind. 
She was very popular, — in fact, quite a general pet, — 
with the officers of the 99th cavalry when that regiment 
was stationed here." (Speaks excitedly.) Too many 
stories to the woman, and too few to the house! A 
pretty story, altogether, upon my word. The house, a 
shanty, a dilapidated shanty. The house which had 
raised up visions of future ease and comfort, and rent- 
free wedded bliss, a myth! What a liar the old man 
must be! There must be some mistake, and yet, my 
friend is very explicit. Yes, I must believe it. And 
Anna Maria, so sweet — so gentle — can it be? Oh! 
What a fool I must have been to pick up a girl on the 
beach and be so completely bamboozled by a flirting 
schemer! Sold! Ignominiously sold! What a lucky 
escape. (Calls.) Tony!! 

Enter Tony. 

Tony. Here I am! 

Marsh. Pick up that razor! (Tony does so.) Now 



A CLOSE SHAVE 61 

kiss it! {Tony, astonished, does so.) Kiss it again. 
Good! Hand it to me. 

Tony (hands it). There. (Aside.) Oh, ain't he 
quaint ! 

Marsh (takes it). Blessed razor! But for thee, I 
should have been sacrificed, betrayed, swindled ! As 
thou hast cut me, so cut I the mendacious Anna Maria. 
(To Tony.) Hand me that night-cap! 

Tony. Ha! Ha! Going to get married in a night- 
cap? 

Marsh. Hush up, you blockhead. I'm going to bed 
again. Be off! Never mind your livery and — 

Tony. I'm off to bed — hurrah! 

Marsh. And, mind you ! If anyone knocks or rings, 
let them knock. If you open the door to a living soul 
to-day, I'll kill you. Turn around. (Tony turns, 
Marsh kicks him.) There. Now be off — 

Tony. Thunder ! That was a corker ! (Aside.) 
Oh! Ain't he quaint! (Exit.) 

Marsh. Now for bed, and peace and quiet. Thus 
ends my dream of love and matrimony ! The beautiful 
house in Podunk melts from my view like a phantom 
castle in the air. The sweet and bashful maiden of 
my hopes and desires is transformed into a repellent 
and mendacious flirt. The dream is past — and — what 
an escape! If Tony had called me one short hour 
earlier, I should now be married, — have flung away 
my whole future, and to-morrow — what an awakening 
to misery and disappointment ! Thank goodness I have 
been saved that bitterness ! If there be any young men 
like myself present, beware of three things: — Rocka- 
way Beach, moonlight and stray sirens. (Jumps into 
bed, thrusts head out between the curtains.) But, by 
the holy poker, that was A Close Shave. 

Curtain. 

Bob O'Link. 



62 THE LETTER 



THE LETTER 



CHARACTERS 

Squire Egan, A country squire. 
Andy, A new Irish servant. 

Scene. — The squire's office. 




Squire. Well, Andy; you went to the postoffice, as 
I ordered you? 

Andy. Yes, sir. 

Squire. Well, what did you find? 

Andy. A most imperthinent fellow, indade, sir. 

Squire. How so? 

Andy. Says I, as dacent like as a gentleman, "I 
want a letther, sir, if you plase." "Who do you want 
it for?" said the posth-masther, as ye call him. "I 
want a letther, sir, if you plase," said I. "And who 
do you want it for?" said he, again. "And what's 
that to you?" said I. 

Squire. You blockhead, what did he say to that? 

Andy. He laughed^ at me, sir, and said he could 
not tell what letter to give me, unless I told him the 
direction. 

Squire. Well, you told him, then, did you? 

Andy. "The directions I got," said I, "was to get 
a letther here — that's the directions." "Who gave you 
the directions*?" says he. "The masther," said I. 
"And who is your masther?" said he. "What consarn 
is that o' yourn?" said I. 

Squire. Did he break your head then? 

Andy. No, sir. "Why, you stupid rascal," said he, 
"if you don't tell me his name, how can I give you 
his letther?" "You could give it, if you liked," said I; 
"only you are fond of axing impident questions, becase 



THE LETTER 63 

you think I'm simple." "Get out o' this!" said he. 
"Your masther must be- as great a goose as yourself, 
to send such a missenger." 

Squire. Well, how did you save my honor, Andy? 

Andy. "Bad luck to your impidence!" said I. "Is 
it Squire Egan you dare to say goose to?" "Oh, Squire 
Egan's your master?" said he. "Yes," said I. "Have 
you anything to say agin' it?" 

Squire. You got the letter, then, did you? 

Andy. "Here's a letther for the squire," says he. 
"You are to pay me elevenpence posthage." "What 
'ud I pay 'leven pence for?" said I. "For postage" 
says he. "Didn't I see you give that gentleman a 
letther for fcurpence this blessed minute?" said 
I; "and a bigger letther than this? Do you think I'm 
a fool?" says I. "Here's a fourpence for you — and give 
me the letther." 

Squire. I wonder he did not break your skull and 
let some light into it. 

Andy. "Go 'long, you stupid thafe!" says he; be- 
case I wouldn't let him chate your honor. 

Squire. Well, well, give me the letter. 

Andy. I haven't it, sir. He wouldn't give it to me, 
sir. 

Squire. Who wouldn't give it to you? 

Andy. That old chate beyant the town. 

Squire. "Didn't you pay what he asked? 

Andy. Arrah, sir, why would I let you be chated, 
when he was selling them before my face for four- 
pence a piece ? 

Squire. Go back, you scoundrel, or I'll horsewhip 
you. 

Andy. He'll murther me, if I say another word to 
him about the letther; he swore he would. 

Squire. I'll do it, if he don't, if you're not back in 
less than an hour. (Exit.) 

Andy. Oh, that the like o' me should be murthered 
for defending the charrackter of my masther ! It's not 



64 "LEAST SAID, SOONEST MENDED" 

I'll go to dale with that bloody chate again. I'll off to 
Dublin, and let the letther rot on his dirty hands, bad 
luck to him! 

William B. Fowle. 



LEAST SAID, SOONEST MENDED" 



CHARACTERS 
Mr. Silent. Mrs. Prattle. Mrs. Silent. 



Scene. — Mr. Silent reading; enter Mrs. Silent in a 
flurry. 

Mrs. Silent. Oh, my dear, only think! Selina 
Audrey is going to marry Mr. Frederick Jones. Did 
you ever hear of such a thing? 

Mr. Silent. I heard it was settled three weeks ago. 

Mrs. Silent. You heard it was settled three weeks 
ago ! And why did you not tell me ? 

Mr. Silent. What was the use of telling you? I 
knew you would not be asked to the wedding, or there 
would be plenty of time to buy a new bonnet if you 
should. 

Mrs. Silent. What is the use? That is just what 
you always say. As if one did not like to know what 
one's neighbors were about. I declare I am quite 
ashamed of my ignorance very often. I never hear 
that anyone is dying, or going to be married, till it is 
all over. And where did you hear this? 

Mr. Silent. Out hunting. 

Mrs. Silent. Yes, all news is hatched or told out 
hunting. Don't talk of tea-table gossip, it is nothing 
to hunting coffee-houses. But I declare I don't see 
the use of your going hunting; you never tell me any- 
thing. 

Mr. Silent. What is the use of spreading reports? 

Mrs. Silent. That is just what you always say, and 



"LEAST SAID, SOONEST MENDED" 65 

so I never know anything. It seems so unkind not 
to congratulate one's friends on a wedding in the 
family. 

Mr. Silent. Ten to one if there is not more cause 
for condolence. 

Mrs. Silent. Dear me! Have you heard anything 
about Mr. Jones? 

(Mr. Silent continues reading.) 

Mrs. Silent {impatiently). My dear, why don't you 
answer? Have you heard anything of Mr. Frederick 
Jones ? 

Mr. Silent. Yes. 

Mrs. Silent. What have you heard? 

Mr. Silent. A great deal. 

Mrs. Silent. But what, my dear — what? You are 
so tiresome; one has to drag every word from you by 
question upon question. What have you heard of Mr. 
Jones ? 

Mr. Silent. That he is a bachelor. 

Mrs. Silent. I knew that before. What else? 

Mr. Silent. His mother lives in Boston. 

Mrs. Silent. I knew that too. What else did you 
hear ? 

Mr. Silent. They say he is short. 

Mrs. Silent. Pooh! I heard that before too. Is 
he rich? 

Mr. Silent. I have no special opportunity of know- 
ing. 

Mrs. Silent. What do people say about his fortune? 

Mr. Silent. Some say it is large. 

Mrs. Silent. Is that all you know about it? Then 
I can tell you, my dear, something you have not heard 
before. He has gambled away all his fortune, and 
has not a dollar left. 

Mr. Silent. I heard that a month ago. 

Mrs. Silent. And never told me! not even just now 
when I questioned you so closely. You really are 
enough to make an automaton scold. Where did you 
hear it? 



66 "LEAST SAID, SOONEST MENDED" 



* 



Mr. Silent. At the Exchange one morning. 

Mrs. Silent. There, that is just as I said before; 
you never tell me anything. I don't see the use of 
being your wife, or of your going to the Exchange, if 
you are never to tell me anything. Mr. Prattle tells 
his wife all he hears, as husbands should. 

Mr. Silent. Better if he did not. 

Mrs. Silent. I don't see that at all, my dear. What 
are tongues for, if not to be used? 

Mr. Silent. We have two ears to one tongue, which 
proves that we should only tell half what we hear. 

Mrs. Silent. I don't see that at all. We have two 
legs to one head. Does that mean that we are to walk 
twice as much as we think? 

Mr. Silent. Most do who are not bedridden. 

Mrs. Silent. We should never know anything about 
our neighbors if that was to be the case; besides, you 
never tell more than a quarter of what you hear; no, 
not even that. 

Mr. Silent. More than enough, if I do; your neigh- 
bors will get on quite as well without your talking of 
them. 

Mrs. Silent. But it makes one look so foolish. You 
told me the other day that Mrs. Hampden had a boy, 
but never told me she- had twins, and there was I saying 
all manner of silly things in consequence. 

Mr. Silent. You need not have said anything. 
Least said is soonest mended. 

Mrs. Silent. Not say anything when one's friend 
has twins, Mr. Silent? Was there ever anyone like 
you? Why, you are worse than a heathen. Then you 
told me Miss Welsh was going to be married, and when 
I went to congratulate her, lo, and behold! it was all 
off again; and she looked red, and I looked red, and 
we all looked red and foolish together. 

Mr. Silent. That comes of meddling in your neigh- 
bor's concerns. Had you held your tongue, as I do, 
no one would have looked red or foolish. 

Mrs. Silent. Hold my tongue when my friend'* 



"LEAST SAID, SOONEST MENDED" 67 

daughter is going to be married! Did anyone in their 
senses ever say the like? Indeed, my dear, you grow- 
worse and worse. If you had told me that the match 
was off, I should not have seemed so like an idiot. 

Mr. Silent. You never asked me that. 

Mrs. Silent (pettishly). Ask! that is always the 
way with you: I must make out a list of our friends 
and neighbors, and ask you every morning whether 
each one is well or ill, going to die, or going to be mar- 
ried. 

Mr. Silent. Better not; let them alone. Don't med- 
dle with others, and they will not meddle with you. 

Mrs. Silent. And so never know what is going on 
in the world! 

Mr. Silent. The world would go on quite as well, 
and you much better. 

Mrs. Silent. I cannot say I think so, my dear, and 
wish you would tell me all you hear. 

Mr. Silent. I would rather not, my dear: the coun- 
try would soon be in a blaze if I did. 

Mrs. Silent. Well, my dear, I must say it is very 
unkind to be so uncommunicative. Mrs. Prattle always 
knows everything. 

Mr. Silent. And tells everything, too: she may pay 
for this one of these days. 

Mrs. Silent. Mr. Silent, what can you mean? 

Mr. Silent. Time may show. 

Mrs. Silent. There, that is just like you; giving no 
answer at all, or one that tells nothing. But here 
comes Mrs. Prattle herself. 

Enter Mrs. Prattle, who shakes hands with Mrs. Silent, 
hut, in her hurry, overlooks Mr. Silent. 

Mrs. Prattle. Oh, my dear Mrs. Silent, oh! 

Mrs. Silent. My dear Mrs. Prattle, what is the 
matter; you are panting and trembling like a coursed 
hare. Have you heard of any more marriages? 

Mrs. Pratt. Oh, my dear Mrs. Silent, pray never 
name the word marriage again: I shall hate it to my 



68 "LEAST SAID, SOONEST MENDED" 

dying day. Oh, dear ! we are in such trouble ! such 
distress ! Would you believe it ? Mr. Frederick Jones 
is in a great rage, because someone has set about that 
he has lost all his fortune by gambling, and he talks 
of prosecuting Mr. Prattle and myself: only think how 
shocking — I, a lady, to be dragged into a court of jus- 
tice. I am sure I did not set it about; I only repeated 
what Prattle told me, and he heard it out hunting, and 
I told Mrs. Ready and her nieces and Mrs. Finch and 
her daughters not to repeat it. I am sure everybody 
knew it as well as we did — the whole town was talking 
about it ten days ago. I am sure you must have heard 
it, my dear. 

Mrs. Silent (looking reproachfully at her husband). 
No, indeed, Mrs. Prattle, I never heard anything of it 
till this morning: my husband is not like yours, he 
never tells me anything. 

Mrs. Pratt. I wish Mr. Prattle had not told me this. 
Only think, our names put in the papers, and the coun- 
sel saying all kinds of things, and everyone going to 
hear: and then perhaps to pay large damages beside. 
I am sure I did not mean any harm and would make 
twenty apologies. Do you think Mr. Silent could speak 
to Mr. Jones? 

Mrs. Silent (turning to her husband). Do you hear, 
my dear, the trouble poor Mrs. Prattle is in? 

Mr. Silent. That comes of talking. 

Mrs. Silent. She only said what everybody else said. 

Mr. Silent. Better if everybody held their tongues. 

Mrs. Silent. Oh ! my dear, what a very stupid world 
it would be then: as dull as a Quakers' meeting. But 
do you hear, Mr. Jones is going to prosecute Mrs. 
Prattle for saying he gambled away all his fortune? 

Mr. Silent. Yes, my dear, I knew that an hour ago. 

Mrs. Silent. And never told me ! 

Mr. Silent. No, my dear, and if Mr. Prattle had 
not told his wife they would not have been threatened 
with prosecution now. This comes of talking, as I 
said before. I have no advice to give on the subject 



JONATHAN'S DAUGHTERS 69 

further than to recommend to your notice an old proverb 
which suits your case, and recommends keeping the 
mouth shut. Good-morning. (Exit Mr. Silent.) 

Mrs. Prattle (sharply). People who are too selfish 
and indolent to give aid can give advice and quote 
proverbs ! Good-morning. (Exit Mrs. Prattle.) 

Mrs. Silent. I wonder what proverb he meant? 
Eh! now I know. Well, perhaps if Mrs. Prattle had 
not talked so, she would not have got into this trouble. 
We must all take care what we say. Oh! How glad 
I am that my husband doesn't tell me all he hears. If 
he did, I should be in just as much trouble as Mrs. 
Prattle. Oh, he's right! What an escape for me! 
Yes— "Least said, soonest mended." 

Curtain. 

Ellen Pickering. 



JONATHAN'S DAUGHTERS 



CHARACTERS 

Mrs. Jemima Wiggins, An old woman from the country. 
Martha Slyker, 1 

Arabella Slyker, Y Her nieces residing in the city. 
Fanny Slyker. J 

Scene. — A room. Aunt Jemima Wiggins seated with 
her bonnet on, a bandbox and bundle beside her. 



Aunt Jemima. Wall, it never entered my head that 
any of Jonathan Slyker's children would act the way 
that one did. Why, she didn't even ax me to take off 
my bunnit, but bounced eout of the room like as if she 
could skurcely endure to look at me. Wall, I calkilate 
she'll rue that arter awhile. I've got consid'able money 
to give away to somebody, but I'm purty sure it won't 
go to anybody that's ashamed of me, or to anybody 



70 JONATHAN'S DAUGHTERS 

that flounces eout of the room the way that one did. 
I know my clothes aren't jest the finest {smoothes down 
her dress), but I calkilate I've a heap more money than 
they have. I have hearn tell that they were right poor, 
and I thought as heow I'd help 'em some. But it's 
precious little help they'll get from me if the rest of 
'em don't act better 'n that one did. She didn't even 
offer to shake hands with me when I told her who I 
was, but said she'd go eout and tell her sisters. And 
I think she's got the idee into her head that I'm hard 
of hearin'. I s'pose that was because I talked loud 
to her, and mebbe because I'm purty old. Wall, I can 
hear as well as anybody, but if they want to think that 
I'm deaf I guess I'd better jest let 'em think so. Mebbe 
I can find eout more abeout 'em in that way. There's 
some of the gals acomin' in neow. I wonder if they'll 
ax me to take off my bunnit. 

Enter Martha and Arabella. 

Martha {speaking very loud). I have seen Arabella 
and she is inclined to think that you are an impostor. 
But she has come in with me; she can speak for herself. 

Arabella {speaking very loud). My sister says that 
you claim to be a sister of my father's. We can hardly 
believe this, as we have never seen you, nor have we 
heard anything in regard to my father's sister for a 
great many years. There are a great many tramps 
going around now and we are inclined to think that 
you are a tramp. 

Aunt Jemima {springing up and speaking excitedly) . 
Who's a tramp — who ? Your Aunt Jemima a tramp ! 
Can I believe my ears? Can it be possible that Jona- 
than Slyker's childer should talk to me in this way? 

Arabella. We must, therefore, request you to gather 
up your traps and be off. 

Martha. Yes, you must go. We don't want you 
here. 

Aunt Jemima. Wall, I can go. Yeour Aunt Je- 
mima isn't one that hangs areound a house very long 



JONATHAN'S DAUGHTERS 71 

arter she's been told to go. I heard yeou were in purty 
poor sarcumstances and I thought as heow I'd come 
deown and see heow yeou were gettin' along. 

Arabella (angrily). Don't attempt to insult us now 
by telling us that you heard that we were in poor 
circumstances. I am now, more than ever, convinced 
that you are an impostor. 

Aunt Jemima. Yeou are! Wall, there's no use in 
talkin' to yeou, so I'll go. (Takes up her bundle and 
bandbox.) 

Enter Fanny. 

Fanny. How is this? Martha, didn't you say that 
Aunt Jemima had come to see us, and now why is it 
that she is going away so soon? 

Martha (in a lower tone). We don't want her here. 
She's a rough, countrified old woman and we should 
be ashamed to have our friends see her. Anyhow, we 
have enough to do to keep ourselves without keeping 
this poor old woman. She's hard of hearing — she can't 
hear what I'm saying now. We told her that she was 
an old tramp, although we know well enough that she 
is our Aunt Jemima. 

Aunt Jemima (aside). Ah, ha! And these air Jona- 
than Slyker's darters! Well! well! (To the others.) 
Yes, I'll be a goin'. As I said afore, I don't stay 
long areound a house arter I have been ordered eout. 

Fanny (speaking in a loud voice and taking hold of 
her bundle and bandbox) . Indeed, you'll not go. 

Aunt Jemima. Heow's this? Ordered me eout of 
the house and neow yeou want to rob me of my best 
clothes too ! What kind of childer did Jonathan Slyker 
have, anyheow? 

Fanny. I don't want to rob you. 

Aunt Jemima. Wall, I should say it looked like it 
when yeou're a grabbin' my bundle and bandbox. I've 
got a new Sunday gown in the bundle and a bran new 
bunnit in the bandbox. 

Fanny (still speaking very loud). You don't under- 



72 JONATHAN'S DAUGHTERS 

stand me. I don't want to rob you; I want you to 
stay. I know you are our Aunt Jemima, and Martha 
and Arabella know it too, but they are trying to be 
as ugly as possible. I have as much interest here as 
they have, and I say you must stay. 

Martha (in a lower tone). Fanny, what are you 
saying and what do you mean? We don't want any 
old scarecrow here. We know she's our Aunt Jemima, 
but what would Mr. Harper and Mr. Anderson say 
if they should see her? You know we are as poor 
as we want to be now, and we don't want to do anything 
to lessen our matrimonial chances. Don't be a dunce, 
Fanny. Let her go when she wants to. 

Fanny (in a lower tone). Indeed, I shall do noth- 
ing of the kind. Wouldn't it be an everlasting dis- 
grace to turn out our aunt — our father's only sister? 
You and Arabella must be entirely heartless. 

Aunt Jemima. No, I can't think of stayin'. I'll 
go to some of the big hotels and stay till to-morrow. 
I somehow kinder don't like the idee of hangin' areound 
a house arter bein' ordered eout. 

Fanny. But you must stay. (Takes hold of her 
bundle and bandbox again.) You must not go away 
under these circumstances. They are afraid that their 
beaux will see you and be horrified. They are afraid 
that your presence here will in some way spoil their 
matrimonial prospects. 

Aunt Jemima. Oh, is that it? (Laughs.) Ha! ha! 
Wall, I'm sure I'll not do that. I'll see the beaux and 
give them a talkin' to. I'll tell them that the gals 
are Jonathan Slyker's darters, and bein' Jonathan Sly- 
ker's they'll be likely to make purty good wives. Oh, 
no, if that's all that's in the way I won't do nothin' 
to give 'em a set back. Of course I think they're a 
leetle stuck up and that's a leetle eout of place for poor 
people, but seein' as they're Jonathan Slyker's darters 
I reckon they'll come out all right. (Sets down her 
bundle and bandbox.) 



JONATHAN'S DAUGHTERS 73 

Arabella (angrily and in a loud tone). We want 
you to take your bundles and go. 

Aunt Jemima. Yeou do! Wall, I'll be agoin'. I 
hain't used to hangin' around a house very long arter 
bein' ordered eout. {Takes up her bundle and band- 
box.) Yes, I'll be agoin'. I do wonder if these air 
Jonathan Slyker's childer. I do wonder if they have 
no feelin's at all for their poor old aunt. (Sets down 
her bundle and bandbox, takes out a bandanna and wipes 
her eyes. Pretends to weep.) Oh, dear! I only had 
one brother and that brother was Jonathan Slyker. 
(Wipes her eyes.) I wonder if these air Jonathan's 
childer ? 

Fanny (in a lower tone to Martha and Arabella). 
Aren't you ashamed of yourselves? I declare it's too 
bad. See! poor Aunt Jemima is crying. You have 
disgraced yourselves. (To Aunt Jemima.) Don't 
cry, Aunt Jemima. You shan't go until you have made 
us a visit. I have as much authority here as Martha 
or Arabella and I say you shall stay. 

Aunt Jemima (wipes her eyes, then takes up her 
bundle and bandbox). Wall, no, I don't know as I'd 
like to stay arter bein' ordered eout. 

Fanny. But you will be my guest. / haven't or- 
dered you out. 

Aunt Jemima. No, yeou dear little soul, yeou 
haven't. Yeou're a noble girl, but I can't say so much 
for yeour sisters. And the question comes at me again 
(indicating Martha and Arabella), can it be that these 
gals air Jonathan Slyker's darters? As I said afore, 
I don't hang around a house very long arter bein' or- 
dered eout, but I'll set deown my bundle and bandbox 
for a few minutes until I tell yeou somethin'. (Sets 
them down.) I'm yeour Aunt Jemima, and yeou gals 
(indicating Martha and Arabella) know it as well as 
I do. I ain't hard of hearin', but that gal (pointing 
to Martha) seemed to think so when I came in — I 
reckon it was because I'm purty old — and I jest let 



74 JONATHAN'S DAUGHTERS 

her think so There wasn't no use in hollerin' at me 
the way yeou did. I heard all yeour talk among yeour- 
selves. Neow, I want to tell yeou somethin' more; 
I heard yeou folks was purty poor. 

Martha (angrily). Who said we were poor? 

Aunt Jemima. Oh, well, it don't make any difference 
who said it; I know it's a fact. Yeou're only tryin' 
to keep up appearances till yeou git married. And, 
as I said afore, I won't stand in yeour way. But 111 
tell yeou the rest. I have twenty thousand dollars in 
my own right. Yeou didn't know that, and yeou'd 
skurcely think that an old woman, dressed the way I 
am, would have so much money. Wall, it's so, and I 
thought I'd come deown and see Jonathan's gals, and 
as I have no other relatives I thought I'd share my 
money with 'em if they'd treat me right. Wall, two 
of 'em acted mighty bad, and one of 'em — that's this 
one — (indicating Fanny) — acted like — wall, she acted 
like as if she had common sense and some feelin' for 
her poor old aunt. So she'll go home with me. (To 
Fanny.) Won't yeou? 

Fanny. Oh, yes, Aunt Jemima; I will be glad to 
do so. 

Aunt Jemima. Yes, yeou're a dear, good child, and 
all the money — twenty thousand dollars — will go to 
yeou at my death. I won't have more'n twenty-five 
cents apiece for these gals (indicating Martha and Ara~ 
bella) for they've treated me like as if I was a Hot- 
tentot. 

Martha. Oh, Aunt Jemima, can't you forgive us? 

Arabella. Oh, Aunt Jemima, we really didn't 
know ! 

Aunt Jemima. No, I reckon not! It's "Aunt Je- 
mima" neow — it was "yeou old tramp" a few minutes 
ago. Wall, Fanny, we'll be agoin'. As I said afore, 
I hain't never been used to hangin' areound a house 
very long arter I have been ordered eout. (Takes up 
her bundle and bandbox.) Yes, we'll be agoin'. (To 
audience.) But before we do go I jest want to ax 



THE HEIRS 75 

jeou, do yeou railly believe that these two (indicating 
Martha and Arabella) air Jonathan's darters, or only 
tramps ? 

Curtain. 

H. E. McBride. 



THE HEIRS 



CHARACTERS 

Mr. French, A wealthy old gentleman. 

Jim, 

Mr. Twig, I TT . , . 

-o „ YtLis heirs. 

Bob Hearty, 

Frank Whiffy. 

Scene. — Mr. French standing before the open fire- 
place of his library warming his hands. 



Mr. French. Well, here I am, a rich, old man, with- 
out a child, and, as far as my knowledge extends, 
without a relation. I have hit upon a singular method 
of finding out my heirs; and I have some hope that it 
will prove successful. I have caused my death to be 
published in the papers, and have advertised for my 
heirs to appear this morning and prove their claims. 
I shall pretend to be my steward; and I think I shall 
be amused, if not enlightened, by this first opportunity 
of seeing eleventh cousins. Hark! here may be one of 
them. (A knocking is heard at the door. He opens 
it and lets in a raw country fellow.) 

Jim. Air you Mr. French's steward, hey? 

Mr. F. I have the care of his property, sir. 

Jim. Well, I'm come to git my shear on 't. 

Mr. F. Pray, how were you related to him? 

Jim. You see, my mother's aunt's husband's sister 
was second cousin to Mr. French's grandfather; at 



76 THE HEIRS 

least so they tell'd me, and our squire said how I ought 
to look arter the property, or somebody else would cut 
me out. 

Mr. F. Pray, did you ever see Mr. French? 

Jim. No, but they tell me he was a clever old jockey. 

Mr. F. He was a good friend to me. 

Jim. Well, my old daddy, if I get his money, I'll 
not let you go a-begging. Can you curry a horse, hold 
a plow, or drive a team? No, I guess not; but you'd 
soon learn. 

Mr. F. I'm too old to take lessons in any new sci- 
ence. (Someone knocks.) But someone is coming. 
Please to step into the next room for a few moments. 
(He does so, and Mr. French opens the door and admits 
Mr. Twig.) 

Twig. What's your business here? 

Mr. F. I am the steward of the late Mr. French. 

Twig. You mean you were his steward; for you are 
no longer so. You may clear out. 

Mr. F. Sir! 

Twig. I am owner here, sir, and have no further 
need of your services. 

Mr. F. Who may you be, sir? 

Twig. The heir of Mr. French, sir. Have you the 
keys of his safe, etc.? Come, give up, surrender and 
begone. 

Mr. F. Why, you would not turn me out of doors, 
sir? 

Twig. No; you may go of your own accord. 

Mr. F. I lived with. Mr. French from his birth till 
now, and he always treated me kindly. 

Twig. He kept you too long and treated you too 
well for the interests of his heir. Come, sir, pack up 
and begone. I shall make clean work of it when I get 
possession. 

Mr. F. I should think you would feel more respect 
for the feelings of Mr. French than to — 

Twig. Respect for a fiddlestick ! the old scoundrel 
is where his feelings can't be hurt by anything I may do. 



THE HEIRS 77 

Mr. F. Yes, he is. (Knocking again.) But some- 
one knocks. Please to walk into the next room for a 
few moments. 

Twig. Yes ; I should like to look around a little and 
see what the old fellow has left me. (He retires, and 
Mr. French lets in Frank Whiffy.) 

Frank. Well, who are you, old boy, eh? 

Mr. F. The steward of the late Mr. French. 

Frank. Oh, aye, yes, true ! Well, I shall relieve you 
from your care. I say, old boy, can I get at any of 
the shiners, hey? 

Mr. F. No; they are all under lock and key. 

Frank. No specie payments, hey? Well, no mat- 
ter, if his bills are current. Come, hand us over some 
bank rags, if you've nothing better. 

Mr. F. Pray, who are you, sir? and what are your 
claims • to the estate which is left in trust with me ? 

Frank. What was the old fellow worth? Will he 
cut up well, hey? Why did he not die ten years ago, 
hey? And so give me a chance to live. I tried once 
to break his neck for him; but he would not let me do 
him the favor, you see; and so I've been running in 
debt ever since on the strength of my expectations. 

Mr. F. He would never have harmed you. 

Frank. No, I suppose not; for he did not want my 
money, as I did his. But, come, let's have a hunt for 
the needful. (Knocking again.) 

Mr. F. Presently. Someone knocks. Please to 
walk into that room till I see what is wanted. 

Frank. Well, make haste, old square-sail, and let's 
see what luck there is about the house. (Exit Frank, 
and Mr. French lets in Bob Hearty.) 

Bob. Are you the steward of Mr. French? 

Mr. F. I was so. You know he is dead, I sup- 
pose? 

Bob. Yes ; and I am sorry for it. 

Mr. F. Why? Are you not one of his heirs? 

Bob. They tell me so ; but I should rather have been 
one of his friends. 



78 THE HEIRS 

Mr. F. Did you know him? 

Bob. Not personally. I have heard my mother 
speak of him. You have lived long with him? 

Mr. F. Yes, very long. 

Bob. He loved you, they say. 

Mr. F. Yes; as he did himself. 

Bob. Well, why didn't he leave you his property ? 
Did he die suddenly? 

Mr. F. He had no mind to make a will. 

Bob. What heirs have put in claims to his estate? 

Mr. F. Several are now in the house. I am 
shocked at their disrespect for his memory, more than 
at their unfeeling treatment of myself. 

Bob. I could wish my claims were the best, that I 
might disappoint them. Say, how nearly are they re- 
lated? I am only a cousin's nephew; and that, you 
know, is a distant remove. 

Mr. F. I would you were nearer; for then a faith- 
ful old servant might not be turned out of doors, as I 
shall certainly be. 

Bob. My chance is so small I should not have called 
had I not been in the city for the purpose of embarking 
for a foreign land to try my fortune. But, look ye, my 
honest friend, I have obtained a small advance to send 
my old mother, and she will share it with you for the 
sake of your good old master, whom she recollects ; and 
I shall, perhaps, return before you need any more aid. 
If I do not, take the will for the deed. There is the 
purse (giving it), with directions for finding my mother. 
God bless you ! Never let poverty make you unfaithful ; 
and it seems you are in no danger of being made un- 
feeling by the possession of too much wealth. 

Mr. F. Stop a moment, my generous fellow, I hear 
wrangling in the next room, and may need your protec- 
tion. 

Bob. You shall have it. 



THE HEIRS 79 

Jim, Twig, and Frank burst into the room, contending 
with great violence. 

Twig. The title is mine by one degree of kindred, 
at least, and I will have one-half, or the whole. 

Frank. That remains to be proved. Give me a 
quarter, and the shark and the bear may fight for the 
rest. 

Mr. F. Gentlemen, do not contend; it will be as 
well to ascertain whether your relative is dead before 
you come to blows for the succession. 

Twig. Old Hunks, how happens it that your master 
hung your portrait up in his parlor and left no portrait 
of himself? I was in hopes to have seen some likeness 
of the old fool. 

Mr. F. The old fool kept no other portrait than 
mine; and this, I hope, will satisfy you of his attach- 
ment to me, and entitle me to some consideration when 
you obtain possession of his immense wealth. 

Twig. Yes, old Judas, you shall have the portrait 
for your share of the property. 

Frank. And then, old Scrub, you may hang your- 
self by the side of it as soon as you please. 

Jim. You are too hard upon the old man. Here, 
old one, give me your fist. If I get the property I'll 
give you a turkey every Thanksgiving, and a mess of 
pork and beans every Fast Day, as long as you live, if 
you don't live too long. 

Mr. F. I am obliged to you, my friends, but I shall 
not probably claim your generous promises. It is time 
to undeceive you. I am the steward of Mr. French, 
but Mr. French has always been his own steward. 

Jim. Then I'm dished. 

Mr. F. Yes, before my mess of beans is — 

Frank. I may go hang myself at once. 

Mr. F. Yes ; on the other side of my picture, if you 
are so inclined. 

Twig. I'm twigged, or my name is not Jeremy Twig. 

Mr. F. Yes, your twig is too far from the stock, and 



80 BARKING UP THE WRONG TREE 

too gnarly for my notion. Good-by to you, worthy rep- 
resentatives of Mr. French. {They hurry out.) 

Bob. Good-by, old gentleman, I am sorry I shall 
not have a chance to aid you. You must take the will 
for the deed, as I said before. 

Mr. F. My generous fellow, you are my heir from 
this moment. Go not to a foreign clime to risk your 
life for the honorable purpose of assisting a beloved 
mother. I will see that her remaining days are as 
happy as kindness and wealth can make them; and I 
will risk my own happiness in the hands of my adopted 
son. I have been my own steward a great while, and 
now I will be yours. 



BARKING UP THE WRONG TREE 

A Negro Dialogue 



CHARACTERS 

Pompey Squib, Editor of the "Bungtown Roarer." 

Ginger Blue, "1 TT . x . , 
T -, YHis friends. 

Jerry Crow, J ' 

p ' V Members of the Crow Club. 

Scene. — Mr. Pompey Squib's office, with a table and 
two chairs; practical door in flat. Pompey Squib 
seated at table with a newspaper. 



Pomp. I think it's berry hard on dis child, dat no- 
body seems to believe one word dat comes out in de 
Bungtown Roarer in spite ob all de efforts I makes to 
improve dere mind by putting in all de most improb- 
able stories dat I can make out ob my own head, and 
all de most wonderful tales dat I can cram into one 
sheet ob paper out ob odder people's heads besides. 
Dar's only one bit ob k'rect information in all dis here 



BARKING UP THE WRONG TREE 81 

sheet, and dat is de deff ob ole Pete Jones, and I'm 
blest if ole Pete didn't come himself and punch my 
head dis morning for telling de folk he was dead. He 
said it was deformation ob character to say dat any man 
was dead till I'd been properly orferised by de man 
himself to publish it. I wonder what'll be next. 

Enter Ginger with a newspaper. 

Ginger. I'm going to be next. 

Pomp. Ah, good-morning, Massa Blue. How d'ye 
do? (Offers his hand.) 

Ginger. Pompey Squib, do you think I'd shake dat 
hand till it was cleaned ob de awful sin dat sticks to 
it like a 'possum sticks to de bark ob a buttonwood tree ? 

Pomp. What awful sin does you mean, Massa Blue? 

Ginger. Can you ask de question wid dat paper in 
your hand, Pompey Squib — arn't you ashamed ob your- 
self? 

Pomp. What for? 

Ginger. De awful crime ob Hyperbully, Pompey. 

Pomp. Hyper — nebber did such a deed in my life ! 
I wasn't dar at all, don't say it was me ! 

"Thou canst not say I did it — nebber shake 
Thy curly locks at me!" 

Ginger. Didn't you put dis in de paper: "Extraor- 
dinary flight ob crows?" 

Pomp. Yes, I did, Massa Blue. 

Ginger. Den it's one ob de greatest hyperbullys I 
eber saw. 

Pomp. I 'sure you, Massa Blue, dat ebery sentence 
in dat paper is based upon de most notorious and im- 
probable facts. 

Ginger. What! do you mean to say dat — but stop. 
I'll read it you: 

The other day, de whole ob de country was plunged 
in de most profound darkness by de passage ob de 
flight ob crows, which completely hid de sun from 
sight. By measurement, dis immense flock ob birds was 



82 BARKING UP THE WRONG TREE 

found to be ober twelve miles long, with an average 

bredth ob about four miles. 

Dar, now, what do you tink ob dat? 

Pomp. Think? Why I tink it's a nat'ral fenome- 
non you don't hear about ebery day. 

Ginger. But how did you get at dat measurement, 
Pompe}^ Squib? 

Pomp. Easy enuff, Massa Blue. De man dat sent 
me de account got up a ladder and measured dem him- 
self. But I don't want to fall out wid you about de 
matter, so for your sake I'll take a mile off de thinnest 
end. 

Ginger. Ah, well, dat mile makes all de difference, 
Pompey, and I'll shake hands wid you now. But dar's 
somefing else yet, Pompey; you've sent me a bill in 
for your papers — now I considers dat's berry mean, 
'specially to an old friend like me. Habn't I kept 
on taking dis paper all dis time, and reading it, and 
lending it out to my friends, just to keep you going? 
and now to be asked to pay for it in de bargain. It's 
berry mean, Pompey Squib, and I'm sorry for you. 

Enter Jerry Crow. 

Crow. What's mean ? 

Ginger. What's dat to you? 

Crow. I thought you was talkin' to me. Say, 
Pomp, you isn't heard how I sold old Snowball, yes- 
terday. 

Pomp. No, Jerry, how's dat? 

Crow. Why, you know'd my hoss, old blind Bob. 

Pomp. Yes, I knows him. 

Crow. Not now you doesn't, he's dead. 

Pomp. What, ole blind Bob? 

Crow. Jess de same ole hoss. He died yesserday, 
and I propped him up against de fence while I fetched 
a hurdle to cart him away, and who should I meet but 
ole Snowball, wid his gun in his hand. "Mornin', 
daddy Snowball," I said, "have you had any luck to- 
day?" "Yes," he says, "bad luck." "What," I said, 



BARKING UP THE WRONG TREE 83 

"not a shot?" "Darn de one/' says Snowball; "but 
look here," he says, "isn't dat your ole hoss a-standing 
'gainst de rail fence yonder?" I says, "Yes, dat's our 
Bob." "Well," he says, "I'll gib you a dollar if you'll 
let me hab a shot at him as he stands dar." "You 
couldn't hit him from here/' I says. "Couldn't I," 
says out ole Snowball, "here, catch hold ob dis dollar, 
and I'll show you. I'll bet you anoder dollar I drop 
him first shot." I says, "done," and old Snowball took 
his sights and fired. But ole Bob nebber stirred. 
"Missed him, by Jericho !" says Snowball, "but I'll hab 
anoder shot; here's anoder dollar." So I laughs at 
him and takes his dollar, and he has anoder try. He's 
a bit hard ob hearing, but I hears de thud ob de bullet 
as it bores a hole in poor ole Bob's ribs; so I says to 
him, "I wonder what de darkies '11 say when I tell 
'em dat ole Snowball couldn't hit a hoss at thirty yards !" 
Dis put his dander up, an* you should hab seen him 
part wid his dollars like a lamb. I had dat nigger 
shooting at de ole dead hoss nearly half an hour at 
a dollar a shot, and I got fifty-five dollars for ole Bob's 
carcase, dat wasn't worth two dollars. At last ole 
Snowball says, "What in thunder ails the old screw 
dat he doesn't stir? I'll go and drive him out ob de 
shade ob dat gum tree, and den I'll hab a better shot." 
So he walks up to ole Bob, and I walks home; and I've 
nebber seen ole Snowball since. (Pompey and Jerry 
laugh heartily.) 

Ginger. Dat was a scanderlous piece of business; 
looks berry much like cheating, doesn't it? 

Pomp. Can't see it. Dar's no harm in shooting at 
an old dead hoss, is dar, Jerry? 

Crow. Not a bit. I'll stand ole Bob against all de 
best shots in Virginny at a dollar a shot ! — he'll nebber 
flinch. But I say, Pomp, dar's trouble for you in de 
wind. 

Pomp. How's dat, Jerry? 

Crow. My informashun's berry private, and mustn't 
be told before anoder party. 



84 



BARKING UP THE WRONG TREE 



Ginger. Oh, I'll go into your study, Pompey, and 
look at de papers a short time. (Exit Ginger.) 

Pomp. Now, Jerry, what's it all about? 

Crow. You're a gwine to catch it ! 

Pomp. What for? 

Crow. You've been a doing somefin' agin de Crow 
Club. 

Pomp. Well, Jerry, I'se only been a pepperin' 'em 
a bit in de Bungtown Roarer; 'twasn't much. 

Crow. Well, dey're a gwine to let you hab it berry 
hot, and I knows dar's two ob 'em on de way now, 
wid thick sticks ! 

Pomp. Snakes and knitting needles! Den I'd bet- 
ter be out when dey calls. 

Crow. I tink dat would be your best move, Pomp. 

Pomp. And I say, Jerry, wouldn't it be smart if 
I left ole Ginger Blue to take my place at de meeting? 
He won't pay me for de papers he had, so I'll take 
de pay out in dat way. 

Crow. Golly ! dat's fine, Pomp ! Come along, dey'll 
both be here directly. Dey've took different roads to 
stop your getting off widout meeting one ob 'em. 

Pomp. Den we'll just step in to Ole Bull's round 
de corner, and avoids dem both. ( Turns toward the 
side where Ginger went out, and bows with great dig- 
nity.) Good-by, Massa Blue; perhaps when we meets 
again you'll hab put dat mile on de flight ob crows 
again, and paid for your papers. (Exit Pompey and 
Crow.) 

Reenter Ginger, with newspaper. 

Ginger. Most eberybody can write poor sense, but 
it takes a man ob education to write good nonsense, and 
dere's very few can read it when it's writ. Here 
some poetry. (Reads.) 

De first bird ob spring 
He tried for to sing, 
But before he had sounded a note, 



BARKING UP THE WRONG TREE 85 

He fell from de limb, 
And a dead bird was him, 
For de music had friz in his throat! 

Enter from behind, Bones, with a cudgel. 

Dar's a good bit ob sentiment in dat. 

Bones. Dar'll be a strong bit ob scent, he meant, 
directly. (Shakes cudgel.) 

Ginger. Dese poetical fellers write about birds of 
spring, and robins, and sparrows, and ostriches, jump- 
ing about from bough to bough — 

Bones. Dere'll be an old jay bird jumping about, 
shortly. 

Ginger. And oders write about dere sweet melo- 
dies — ■ 

Bones. And you'll go right about with sweet mel- 
ody. 

Ginger. Oders prefers to see de little birds stripped 
of all dere fedders, and fried on a gridiron, or 
roasted — 

Bones. Dar'll be an old coon roasted with a cudgel 
directly. 

Ginger. But dar's only one bird you nebber can 
pluck, and dat's de eagle — de screaming, roaring, fight- 
ing American eagle, dat sits on de telegrafF wires, and 
whips all creation, including Coney Island. Here's 
something about de Crow Club. (Reads.) "Dose low 
slippery fellows dat call demselves de 'Crow Club,' — 

Bones. It's coming for you, my friend! 

Ginger. "Ought to be called de 'Low Club/ and 
any club ob darkey gentlemen dat thinks demselves 
gentlemen, but don't pay for dere newspapers, ought 
to be tattood from sassiety." 

Bones (comes forward and collars him). Ought 
dey? 

Ginger. Halloo, who are you? 

Bones. I'm one of the tattooers and I'm gwine to 
begin my day's work wid you. 

Ginger. Wid me? 



86 BARKING UP THE WRONG TREE 

Bones. Yes, you're de proprietor ob dis paltry old 
rag, dat you call de Bungtown Roarer. 

Ginger. No, I ain't. 

Bones. Den who is, and whar is he? 

Ginger. He's jist gone out; I'll fetch him for you. 

Bones. No, you don't, I'm not a gwine to lose sight 
ob you. Do you see dis rib tickler? {Shakes stick.) 

Ginger. Yes, I do. 

Bones. Dat's for de editor ob dis old waste rag. 
Whar is he? 

Ginger. He'll berry likely be in directly; dat's his 
study. (Points to room which he has just left.) If 
you'll go in dar, and amuse yourself wid de papers and 
de pen and ink on his desk, I think he'll come to you. 

Bones. Dat's all right. (Exit into room.) 

Ginger. Dere, he's busy doing something. He's 
tearing all de papers on de desk into bits, and throwing 
'em into de fire. Now he's jabbing all de pens on 
de desk, and breaking de points. (Noise within.) 
Now he's smashed de inkstand with de ruler, and 
thrown de scissors and paste pot into de fire; now he's 
sat down with his back dis way, and looking at de 
paper. I'll be moving whilst he's not looking dis 
way. 

(As Ginger goes to the door, he meets Cuff, who is 
entering with a cudgel.) 

Cuff. Stop dar, I knows you; I'se only just in time 
for you. 

Ginger. What do you want wid me? 

Cuff. You'll soon see. (Turns up his coat wrist- 
bands.) 

Ginger. What's de matter? 

Cuff. You're de matter, and you're de matter dat 
has to be operated on, you ole ink-slinger. 

Ginger. Do you know who I am? 

Cuff. Yes, you're de editor ob de Bungtown Roarer. 

Ginger. You're under a mistake; de editor's in his 
study dere (points off), sitting wid his back dis way, 
reading de paper. 






BARKING UP THE WRONG TREE 87 

Cuff. Oh, dat's him, is it? I see him — now don't 
you stand in de way. 

Ginger. I won't. 

(Cuff walks on tiptoe towards the study, with cudgel 
upraised. Ginger runs out hastily.) 

Cuff. Dere he is; I wonder if he 'spects what's com- 
ing to him? 

Bones (within). Wonder how long I'm to wait here 
fer dat scoundrel? 

Cuff. Oh, he expects me, does he? Who's told him 
dat? 

Bones (within). I's getting tired ob waiting; I'll 
go directly and smash de feller outside. 

Cuff. Golly, he looks a big nigger, as he sits wid 
his back dis way. I 'gins to feel skeery — wish I hadn't 
come. 

Bones (within). Oh, if he only know'd what's wait- 
ing ob him here. 

Cuff. Why, he's got a big stick on his knees. I 
think I'll go whilst de coast am clear. (Goes to the 
door and finds that Ginger has fastened it on the out- 
side.) Why, dat oder nigger's locked de door ! What 
shall I do? If dat ruffian inside comes out he'll mur- 
der somebody, de bloodthirsty villain! Eh, golly; I'll 
go behind him and hit him on de head — de fust blow am 
best ob de battle, and dis child means to hab de fust 
blow, and a good un into de bargain. 

(Goes quietly into the room with his stick uplifted.) 

Bones (within). Dis child waits no longer. What's 
dat? (Noise of a struggle within.) 

Reenter Bones and Cuff, fighting with their cudgels, 
and after some comic fighting business, they fall 
against door, burst it open, and both disappear, with 
a noise as if falling down stairs. 

Curtain. 



88 ROMANCE AT HOME 



ROMANCE AT HOME 



CHARACTERS 

Seraphina, An authoress. 

Mr. Brown, Her husband. 

Harry. \ „ 

T ' YUer sons. 

Johnny, J 

Irish Girl, A servant. 

Scene. — Seraphina seated at table, writing. The 
various characters enter abruptly, speak, and im- 
mediately retire. 



Seraphina. Well, I think I'll finish that story for 
the editor of the Dutchman. Let me see; where did 
I leave off? — The setting sun was just gilding with his 
last ray — 

Enter Harry. 

Harry. Ma, I want some bread and molasses and a 
cookie. 

Ser. Yes, dear — gilding with his last ray the church 
spire — 

Enter Brown. 

Brown. Where's my Sunday pants? 

Ser. Under the bed, dear — the church spire of In- 
verness, when a — 

Brown. There's nothing under the bed, dear, but 
your lace cap — 

Ser. Perhaps they are in the coal hod, in the closet 
— when a horseman was seen approaching — 

Enter Irish Girl. 

Irish Girl. Ma'am, the pertators is out; not one for 
dinner — 



ROMANCE AT HOME 89 

Ser. Take some turnips ! — approaching, covered 
with dust, and — 

Brown. Wife, the baby has swallowed a button. 

Ser. Reverse him, dear! Take him by the heels — 
and waving in his hand a banner, on which was writ- 
ten — 

Johnny {outside). Ma! I've torn my pantaloons! 

Ser. — Liberty or death! The inhabitants rush en 
masse — 

Enter Brown. 

Brown. Wife, will you leave off scribbling? 

Ser. Don't be disagreeable, Brown; I'm just get- 
ting inspired — to the public square, where De Begnis, 
who had been secretly — 

Irish Girl. Butcher wants to see you, ma'am. 

Ser. — secretly informed of the traitors — 

Irish Girl. Forget which you said, ma'am, sausages 
or mutton chop. 

Ser. — movements, gave orders to fire! Not less 
than twenty. (Enter Brown with baby [dummy] head 
downward.) My gracious ! Brown, you haven't been 
reversing that child all this time! He's as black as 
your coat. (Enter Johnny with crumpled paper. 
Seraphina snatches it.) And that boy of yours has 
torn up the first sheet of my manuscript. (Two very 
small children heard crying outside.) There! It's no 
use for a married woman to cultivate her intellect. 
Brown, hand me them twins. 

Fanny Fern. 



90 THE DEBATING SOCIETY 

THE DEBATING SOCIETY 



CHARACTERS 



President, The chairman 
Mr. Snooks, 
Mr. Squirrels, 
Mr. Gooseberry, 
Mr. Clutterclump. 



Participants in the debate. 
Scene. — The rooms of the society. 



President. Gentlemen, the question for debate this 
evening is, whether love is a passion of the heart or of 
the soul? I want the gentlemen to speak up so I can 
hear 'em, and to do all their sneezin' and coughin' before 
they begins, and everyone blow his nose beforehand, so 
as he shan't stop to do it when he makes his speech; 
and here is my handkerchief for anyone as hasn't got 
none. Mr. Caesar Augustus Washington Snooks will 
open the debate. 

Snooks. Mr. President, we have come together this 
evening, as I take it, to come to a decision. I was one 
of the first members in it, and we did it to improve the 
mind; for, as Mr. Samuel Shakespeare says, "Now is 
the winter of our discontent made glorious by the son of 
New York." We expect this night, if we all have our 
health, to decide on the problemities of love, and tell 
where it lays and what is its symptoms. And just as 
the President says, so shall it be, whether it's in the 
heart, or in the soul, or in the heel. If he says so, it 
shall be so, and because why — why you see because it 
shall— 

This is a very important subject we are going to de- 
cide, and the opinion of this Society will go forth to 
the world like the signers of the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence. And in after life, when our locks are in the 



THE DEBATING SOCIETY 91 

yellow leaf, we may look back with pride on this even- 
ing; and people in the land, now abed, will hold our 
names dog-cheap. And I go in for love being in the 
heart, 'cause I was once in love myself, and I swow 
my heart felt jest like a shot partridge, and I couldn't 
felt worse if I'd lost a whip-lash, and so I stick to it, 
love is in the heart, and when I put my foot down, 
you can't move me more than you can a stun fence, and 
when my mind's made up, I'm jest like the stately pine, 
with its green tops waving to and fro in the breezes of 
heaven. 

Pres. Mr. Archibald Squirrels will please to get up 
next. 

Squirrels. Mr. President, I don't purtend to be 
nothin' very great on a speech, but I can lick that fel- 
ler's argument jest as dry as a chip, and that just as 
easy, too, as a dog can lick his ear. He sticks to it 
that love's in the heart, but that don't make it so, 'cause 
I knowed a gal named Sal Saspan that stuck to it that 
love was in the feet, for she said jest as quick as she 
fell in love her feet begun to swell, and she had to put 
mustard plasters on 'em to draw it out. So that jest 
kills his shot partridge all to smash; and here's another 
thing, when a feller's ugly to his gal and won't take 
her out a sleigh ridin', she tells him he ain't got no soul. 
There was a case of that kind 'curred last spring ; it was 
Mr. Pippin's daughter was courted by Jones, the bar- 
ber's clerk's assistant, for upwards of three weeks, and 
because he wouldn't put her in a sleigh and take her 
down to her Aunt Peggy's, on the Four Corners, she 
up and telled him he had no more soul than would lay on 
the p'int of a needle. Now, if he can box the compass 
and cap the needle, I'll gin in; but I see Mr. Gooseberry 
is wantin' to speak, so I'll sit right down and gin him 
a chance, and I hope we shall decide this p'int in a way 
to satisfy all by-gone generations. But I consider, Mr. 
President, that Mr. Snooks' argument is just about as 
small as a half cent cut in two. 

Pres. Now, gentlemen, you'll be as silent as pos- 



92 THE DEBATING SOCIETY 

sible, and leave off eating peanuts, for Mr. Gooseberry 
is going to speak. 

Gooseberry. Mr. President, when the far-reaching 
eye of science grasped the specter of power and sat en- 
throned upon the pyramids of Rome — when the acute- 
ness of the Heculean ages that are past was put to rest 
by the somber shadows of the printing press — then it 
was that the age of chivalry submerged itself from the 
dark expanse, and love was beating in the bosom of the 
Western world. It is perfectly clear to me, Mr. Presi- 
dent, that love, like the bird of Jove when he towers 
into the cerulean atmosphere and pounces on his prey — 
that if this bird of Jove could look with his piercing 
eye into the hearts of men and women, he would see 
love perched on the apex of the human bosom. 

Mr. Squirrels has told you of Pippin's daughter; but, 
sir, he has got to prove that she was in love with Mr. 
Jones. I respect Mr. Jones, and have frequently been 
shaved at the shop of his master. But, sir, it is a prob- 
lem which futurity must solve, whether a gentleman 
whose business it is to compound lather, shave his cus- 
tomers, and hang wigs on the outer walls of his mas- 
ter's shop, was capable of inspiring love in the heart of 
Pippin's daughter. 

Sir, I have done; let me be correctly reported; noth- 
ing extenuate or set down aught in malice. I am con- 
fident what I have said will have a solemn effect upon 
the mind of the President, and will be like the torrents 
of a stagnant pool, that shakes the earth to its center. 
For as that beautiful poet has it in his "Paradise Lost": 

"Cupidum abidum in heartum, 
Et solum obsquatulandum sunt." 

Pres. Mr. Clutterclump will please to speak next. 

Clutter clump. Mr. Pr-Pr-President, as I understand 
it, the qu-qu-question is this evening w-we-whether love 
is in the so-so-soul or in the heart, and aw-aw-awl I've 
got to say is, th-th-that we-we-whether love is in th-the 



. 



THE DEBATING SOCIETY 93 

soul or in the h-h-heart, it makes very little odds, for I 
was in 1-1-Hove once myself, and I felt it all over me, 
from the cr-cr-crown of my foot to-to the soul of my 
head, and it was a-a-a-as strong as brandy and sw-sw- 
sweet as lasses, and so I g-g-g-go in b-b-b-both sides of 
the qu-qu-question. 

Pres. Well, now, I believe all the gentlemen have 
spoke on the two sides of the question, besides Mr. Clut- 
terclump that spoke on both sides. In the first place, 
Mr. Snooks remarked that now is the winter of our dis- 
content; now that's very true, and when a man tells me 
what's true once I can believe him ag'in. But then Mr. 
Squirrels don't agree with him, and I can't think of sid- 
ing ag'in Mr. Squirrels, 'case he buys all his goods at 
my shop. Then comes Mr. Gooseberry, and it was won- 
derful to hear him talk about the eagle, and the pyra- 
mids, and the Western world, as was discovered by 
Christofer Columbus. I've got a geography hum that's 
got it all in; as for Mr. Clutterclump, he goes in for 
both sides, and says love is all over the body. Now, I 
stand here to decide something that's been held in dis- 
pute ever since the Christian era, and that was long 
before the New Era was printed. Now, gentlemen, 
this question has got to be decided one way or the other, 
so we'll settle it by chuckin' up a cent. Who's got a 
red cent? 

(All search their pockets; one produces a cent, which 
the President "flips" and announces.} 

Pres. This question is decided in favor of the heart. 

(Great manifestations of delight on the part of Mr. 
Snooks, Mr. Gooseberry, and Mr. Clutterclump.) 

Arnold. 



94 A PHOTOGRAPHER'S TROUBLES 

A PHOTOGRAPHER'S TROUBLES 



CHARACTERS 

Mr. Thaxter, A photographer. 

Mrs. Jemima Jones, An old lady from the country. 

Mrs. Hoffner, A Dutch woman. 

Scene. — A photograph gallery. Mr. Thaxter stand- 
ing near a camera. Enter Mrs. Jones, with a large 
bonnet on and an umbrella in her hand. 



Mrs. Jones. How de do, mister? How de do? Is 
this the place where we can get our picters took? 

Mr. Thaxter. Yes, ma'am, we take pictures here. 
Do you wish to sit for a picture? 

Mrs. Jones. Well, I hadn't just made up my mind 
whether I'd be took while I was sittin' or while I was 
standin' up. Sarah Ann Jenkins, over to Gooseberry 
Holler, she got hers a-sittin' down, and Arabella Hig- 
gins she got hers a-standin' up. Sarah Ann said as 
how she'd a heap ruther have the sittin' down picters, 
and Arabella said she'd ruther have the standin* up 
picters. Which do you like best, mister? 

Mr. Thaxter. Oh, I have no choice. Of course 
there are differences of opinion in regard to the mat- 
ter. Some prefer one position, while others prefer an- 
other. We are always glad to take the picture in any 
position our patrons may choose. 

Mrs. Jones. Yes, I s'pose. Well, I hain't jist al- 
together made up my mind whether I'll have a picter 
took or not. I reckon they come purty high? 

Mr. Thaxter. Oh, no ; only a dollar for half a dozen. 
One of the cheapest places in the city. 

Mrs. Jones. Yes, I s'pose. Can you take 'em purty 
good ? 

Mr. Thaxter. Oh, yes; our pictures are unequaled. 
And we give half a dozen for a dollar. 






A PHOTOGRAPHER'S TROUBLES 95 

Mrs. Jones. Half a dozen — that's six, isn't it? 

Mr. Thaxter. Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. Jones. I reckon you'd give me seven for a 
dollar ? 

Mr. Thaxter. No, ma'am. Our price is six for a 
dollar. We cannot deviate. 

Mrs. Jones. Deviate! What's that ag'in? 

Mr. Thaxter. I mean by that that we cannot give 
more to one person than to another. 

Mrs. Jones. Well, I think I'll have to get seven. 
There's my niece, Susannah Symington, what lives 
down on the big fork of Yaller Creek — I must give 
her one. Then there's Sally Ann Stonington, that 
lives out to Tuckertown — she has asked me for a fulty- 
graft about half a dozen times, and I allers said I'd 
give her one, but somehow I never get straightened up 
so's I could come to the city. But I'm here now, and 
I reckon it had better be attended to. Then there's 
my brother-in-law, what lives in the same town where 
I live — his folks have been askin' and askin' for my 
picter, and I allers kalkilated that they ought to have 
one. And Sam Skoover's folks, over to Turtle Holler 
— they think they have as good a right to have a fulty- 
graft of me as the rest of the relations, and I promised 
them one. But, railly, so many people got to askin' 
me for my picter that I jest had to stop promisin' to 
give 'em. And there was Betsey Puddleford — she's 
one of the Puddlefords out by Sugar Creek — she said 
as how she'd be delighted to have a picter. And Jane 
Ann Pendergrass — 

Mr. Thaxter. Well, then, you think you'll sit for a 
negative ? 

Mrs. Jones. No, it wasn't a negative I was wantin' 
to get. It was a fultygraft, about so big this way 
{showing with her hands), and about so big that way. 
They put them in albumnums, you know, and let them 
lay on the table in the parlor or the sittin'-room. 

Mr. Thaxter. Then you wish to sit for a picture? 

Mrs. Jones. Well, I don't know about that. Hain't 



96 A PHOTOGRAPHER'S TROUBLES 

quite made up my mind on that p'int. Sometimes I 
think I'll be tuck standing up, and then ag'in I think 
mebbe I'd better be took sittin' down. I kinder think, 
mebbe, a woman looks more impressive when she's sit- 
tin' down. Don't you think so, mister? 

Mr. Thaxter. Yes, I believe you are correct. 

Mrs. Jones. Now, there was Cornelia Van Deusen, 
she got her picter took sittin' down, and I didn't like 
the looks of it at all. Sam Skiles said as how if she 
had stood up, and had held up her head, she'd a-looked 
kind of grand and imposing like. 

Mr. Thaxter. Then you think you'll take half a 
dozen pictures ? 

Mrs. Jones. No, I want seven. It'll take seven to 
go 'round. You said you'd give me seven for a dol- 
lar — didn't you? 

Mr. Thaxter. No, I didn't say it. But seeing that 
it is you, and you have come so far, I will put it at 
that figure — seven for one dollar. 

Mrs. Jones. All right, mister. Go ahead and take 
the fultygraft. 

Mr. Thaxter. Do you want to remove your bonnet? 

Mrs. Jones. Well, now, I don't know about that. 
What do you think I ought to do, mister? 

Mr. Thaxter. I believe you would make a better 
picture with your bonnet off. 

Mrs. Jones. Well, yes, I guess I would. (Unties 
her bonnet and takes it off.) I want you to take 
purty good care of this bunnit while I'm gettin' my 
fultygraft tuck. (Hands her bonnet to Mr. Thaxter.) 
I jest got it trimmed on purpose to come to town. 
Sarah Jane Wimple done it up fur me. How do 
you like the looks of it? Purty well trimmed, ain't 
it? 

Mr. Thaxter. Yes, it is a very neat bonnet. 

Mrs. Jones. Melinda Smith, she kinder laughed at 
it, but I just up and told Melinda that it was good 
enough fur anybody, and a great deal better than 
she could wear if her father would pay his debts. Old 



A PHOTOGRAPHER'S TROUBLES 97 

Hezekiah Smith — that's Melinda's father — he isn't a 
very good hand at payin' his debts. 

Enter Mrs. Hoffner. 

Mrs. Hoffner. I vants to git my bicter took. This 
is de blace, ain'd it? 

Mr. Thaxter. Yes, this is the place. What kind 
of a picture do you want? 

Mrs. Hoffner. I vants her sittin' town on a shair, 
or someding dot vay. 

Mr. Thaxter. Very well; I will take it that way. 

Mrs. Jones. But you're goin' to take mine first, ain't 
you? 

Mrs. Hoffner. No, he von't. I am in a pig hurry 
und I must haf mine took righd off. Vill you do 
dot? 

Mr. Thaxter. Not unless this lady is satisfied to 
wait. We must wait on customers as they come. In 
other words, "First come, first served." 

Mrs. Hoffner (to Mrs. Jones). Veil, vot do you 
say apout it? Vould you pe acreed to vait? 

Mrs. Jones. No, I won't wait a minute for any- 
body. I kalkilate my time is about as precious as any 
other woman's. 

Mrs. Hoffner. Veil, you are von pig fool voman. I 
is in von pig hurry, und I vant to git started mit de 
gars. If de gars gits started first, den I von't git 
home ondil to-morrow mornin'. Von't you vait mit 
your bicture ondil I git mine dook? 

Mrs. Jones. No, I'll not wait. I was here first, 
and I'm not going to wait on anybody. I'm in a hurry, 
too. Becky Ann Tucker she cum to town along with 
me, and she'll be a-waitin' down at Jackson's grocery. 

Mr. Thaxter. Be seated, then, and I will soon take 
your picture. (Places chair, and brings the head-rest 
forward.) 

Mrs. Jones. What's that fork fur? I'm afeard 
you're going to play some kind of a trick on me. 

Mr. Thaxter. Oh, no; no trick at all. I will place 



98 A PHOTOGRAPHER'S TROUBLES 

this at your back so you cannot move your head. To 
get a good picture, your head must be kept still. 

Mrs. Hoffner. Veil, vot vill I do apout it? Vill 
I vait, or vill I go? 

Mrs. Jones. Well, you can do just as you have a 
mind to. I don't care one way nor t'other. 

Mrs. Hoffner. Shoost sdop your dalk. I vasn't 
sbeakin' to you. 

Mr. Thaxter. I can be ready for you in a short 
time. (Places cloth over his head, and looks through 
the camera.) 

Mrs. Jones {springing up). Mister, are you goin' to 
shoot ? 

Mrs. Hoffner (laughs very loud). Oh, ho, ho, ho, 
ho, he, he, he, he! Dot is so goot! Funniest ting I 
efer saw. 

Mrs. Jones. You old Dutch woman, you had better 
stop your laughin' at me. 

Mrs. Hoffner (continues to laugh). Oh, ho, ho, ho, 
ho! But dot vas funny. She thought she vas goin' 
to pe fired at mit a gun ! Oh, ho, ho, ho ! 

Mr. Thaxter. You will have to sit again. 

Mrs. Jones. But are you rail sure that thing won't 
go off? 

Mr. Thaxter. Yes, it is perfectly safe. It is the 
instrument for taking pictures; it will not shoot. 

Mrs. Jones. Well, I'll sit down and try it over. 
(Seats herself, and Mr. T. adjusts her head in the head- 
rest.) Now you can go ahead. 

Mr. Thaxter (covers his head, and looks through 
the camera). Keep perfectly still. 

Mrs. Hoffner (very loud). Shoot! fire! bang! 
(Mrs. Jones springs up. Mrs. Hoffner laughs very 
loud.) Shot again! Shot again! De old voman's shot 
again ! 

Mr. Thaxter. There! You've done it now. 

Mrs. Jones. It was that varmint of a Dutch woman. 
I'll settle her business. (Raises her hand, and rushes 
at Mrs. Hoffner.) 



A PHOTOGRAPHER'S TROUBLES 99 

Mr. Thaxter {going between them). No, there 
must be no fighting here. 

Mrs. Hoffner {laughing very loud). Ho, ho, ho! 
Ha, ha, ha! She is de scariest oldt voman I efer did 
see. She thought she vas killed mit dot cannon. 
{Laughs.) Ho, ho, ho! 

Mr. Thaxter. You must not meddle with persons 
when they are sitting for pictures. And if you can- 
not refrain from it, I would thank you to leave the 
gallery. 

Mrs. Hoffner {laughs). Ho, ho, ho! I shoost 
vanted to see if I could make her shump. 

Mr. Thaxter {to Mrs. Jones). Are you ready to 
sit again? 

Mrs. Jones. No, I'll not sit any more. I'll get 
the fultygrafts to-morrow. Let the old Dutch woman 
get her fultygraft now so's she can git on the train 
and git out of the way. 

Mr. Thaxter. That will do. {To Mrs. Hoffner.) 
We will take your picture now. 

Mrs. Hoffner. Dot vill be fery veil. I can get de 
bicters und get off along mit de train. {Seats her- 
self in the chair.) 

Mr. Thaxter {placing her head in the head-rest). 
Now don't move. You can wink as much as you want 
to, but don't move your head. 

Mrs. Hoffner. No, I von't mofe. I understand 
de pizness. I haf had my bicter dook afore many a 
dimes. But I tinks dat oldt vomans nefer had her 
bicter took. 

Mr. Thaxter {looking through the camera). Now 
keep still, and don't laugh any more. I am ready. 

Mrs. Hoffner. I'm reatty, too. Go ahead. 

Mrs. Jones. And I'll go ahead, too. {She springs 
upon Mrs. Hoffner, and upsets her chair). How do 
you like that, you old Dutch woman? 

Mrs. Hoffner {struggling to get up). Vot's dot 
you say? Now, den, I'll make you vish you hadn't 
come. {Mr. Thaxter endeavors to separate them.) 






100 O'HOOLAHAN'S MISTAKE 

VO uZ'/Ttl ?tf 7 ,Z h °' h °' and ku S h some ™«, 
you old Hottentot? {They struggle and scream.) 



Curtain. 

McBride. 



O'HOOLAHAN'S MISTAKE 




CHARACTERS 
Judge Young, A county judge. 

Ted' ) Two Irishmen. 
Biddy, Pat's wife. 

ScENE.—Judge Young's court room, the Judge seated 
upon a little raised platform with a railing or desk 
in jront. 

Enter Pat and Ted, breathless, both speaking at once. 

Ted. 1 __ T 

Pat. | Mr - Jud § e ; Mr. Judge! Oh, yer honor- 
Judge — Judge. 

Judge. One at a time, if you please. 

Pat Judge— yer— honer— will I sphake thin? 

Ted. Silence! I am here! Let me talk! Phwat 
do you know about law? 

Judge. Keep still yourself, sir. Let him say what he 
wants. 

Pat . Well, I want me naime afF the paiper. That's 
phwat I want. 

Judge. Off what paper? 

Pat. Well, aff the paiper; ye ought to know what 
paiper. Sure, ye married me, they say. 

Judge. To whom? 

Pat.^ Some female, sir; and I don't want her, sir. 
It don t go ! and I want me naime aff the paiper. 



O'HOOLAHAN'S MISTAKE 101 

Ted. Silence! {Bringing his huge fist down upon 
the little pulpit, just under the Judge's nose, with a 
tremendous thwack.) Silence! I am here. Phwat 
do you know about law? Sure, yer honor, it was Tim 
McCloskey's wife that he married — his widdy, I mane. 
You married thim, yer honor. 

Pat. And I was dhrunk at the time, sir. Yes, sir; 
an* I was not a free aigent; an' I don't know a thing 
about it, sir — devil roawst me. I want me name aff 
the paper — I repudiate, sir. 

Ted. Silence! Let me spake. Phwat do you 
know about law? {Bringing his fist down upon the 
judge's desk.) 

Pat. But I was dhrunk; I was not at the time a 
free aigent. 

Ted. Silence! I am here to spake. It does not 
depind on that at all. It depinds — and there is the 
whole pint, both in law and equity — it depinds whether 
was the woman a sole trader or not at the time this 
marriage was solemnated. That is the pint, both in 
law and equity! 

Pat. But I was dhrunk at the time. Divil roawst 
me if I knowed I was gittin' married. I was not a 
free aigent. I want the Judge to taik me naime aff 
the paiper. It don't go. 

Judge. Well, but drunk or sober, you are married 
to the woman fast enough, and if you want a divorce, 
you must go to another court. 

Pat. Divil burn me if I go to another court. You 
married me, and ye can unmarry me. Taik me naime 
aff the paiper! 

Ted. Silence! {Bringing his fist down in close 
proximity to the Judge's nose.) Phwat do you know 
about law ? I admit, Judge, that he must go to a higher 
court; that is {down comes the fist), if the woman can 
prove {whack) that she was at the time the marriage 
was solemnated {whack) a regularly ordained sole 
thrader {whack). On this pint it depinds, both in law 
and equity. 



102 O'HOOLAHAN'S MISTAKE 

Judge. I have had enough of this ! I cannot di- 
vorce you. You are married, and married you must 
remain, for all I can do. 

Pat. Ye won't taik me naime aff the paiper, thin? 

Judge. It would not mend the matter. 

Pat. Ye won't taik it aff? 

Judge. No; I won't. {Very loud.) 

Ted. Silence ! {Bringing down his fist.) It de- 
pends whether, at the time, the woman was a regular 
sole — 

Judge. Get out of here. I've had about enough of 
this ! {Rising.) 

Pat. Ye won't taik it aff? Very well, thin, I'll go 
hoam and devorce myself. Divil roawst me, I'll fire 
the thatch! I will — {Glances toward the front door, 
and in a stooping posture goes out the back door like a 
shot. Ted also glances toward the door, and follows.) 

Enter Biddy, a large Irish woman, with fire in her 
eyes. She advances toward the Judge. 

Biddy. Did I, or did I not, see Patrick O'Hoolahan 
sneak out of your back door? 

Judge. I believe O'Hoolahan is the name of one 
of the gentlemen who just went out. 

Biddy. You be-e-lave ! You know it was Patrick 
O'Hoolahan! Now what is all this connivin' in here 
about? Am I a widdy again? Did ye taik his naime 
aff the paiper? Did ye taik it aff? 

Judge. N-no. 

Biddy. Ye didn't? Don't ye decave me! 

Judge. No; I give you my word of honor I didn't, 
couldn't — I had no right. 

Biddy. It's well for ye, ye didn't. I'll tache him 
to be rinnin' about connivin' to lave me a lone widdy 
ag'in, whin I'm makin' a jintleman of him. {Marches 
to door, turns, shakes fist, and says.) Now, do ye 
mind that ye lave his naime on the paiper! I want 
no meddlin' wid a man wanst I git him. No more con- 
nivin' ! 



A BUDGET OF BLUNDERS 103 



A BUDGET OF BLUNDERS 



CHARACTERS 

ArciHY Aspen. "1 A , , 

^ m VAmateur sportsmen. 

Frank Tremor, J r 

Ferret, A detective. 

Scene. — Waiting room at a Long Island railway sta- 
tion. 

Enter Archy hurriedly, R. 



Archy. The next train for New York starts in half 
an hour. How nervous I am, to be sure — not a sur- 
prising thing, when one has been the means of causing 
the death of a fellow creature. Oh, my poor nerves. 
Why, oh, why, did Jones insist upon me trying my 
hand at shooting woodcock ! When away from the ma- 
jority of the company, I tried my hand — but alas, I 
did not shoot a bird. Poor Tremor! to think that you, 
my best friend, should have been the one to receive the 
contents of the barrel. Immediately upon hearing his 
cry of pain — of mortal agony — the vision of a court, 
judge, jury, gallows and hangman, came before my 
eyes. Acting upon impulse, I turned and fled; hear- 
ing, as I did so, a gun fired, which caused me to give 
a terrified shriek. It was quite an accident my shooting 
Frank Tremor, and perhaps they would acquit me, 
but then — (steps) — ah, someone comes. If I am seen, 
my face will be my own accuser. Where can I hide ! 
Ah, in here ! (Exit, L.) 

Enter Ferret, R. 

Ferret. No one about at present. The train for 
New York starts in twenty minutes. If they endeavor 



104 A BUDGET OF BLUNDERS 

to leave here by that train, I shall nab them nicely. 
Tom Ferret is not the detective to be easily balked of 
his prey. I came down here from main office in search 
of a couple of criminals, wanted on a charge of mur- 
der. According to information received, they are in 
the neighborhood. It may have been a hoax to put us 
on the wrong scent, and it may be correct information. 
If they are here, I'll run 'em down, or my name ain't 
Tom Ferret. I'll go and make a few inquiries at those 
cottages at the end of yonder lane. (Exit, L.) 

Enter Archy cautiously, L. 

Archy. I am done for! I couldn't hear all he said, 
but I heard enough to convince me that he is after me. 
I heard him mention the word — murder — that was quite 
enough. I didn't try to hear more. Perhaps I had 
better give myself up to this gentleman, and save him 
further trouble. How quickly they have put the de- 
tectives on the scent. I wonder if they would believe 
in my innocence? Poor Tremor! He knows his old 
friend Archy Aspen did not intend to kill him. It was 
a bad day's work for both of us when we accepted the 
invitation of Jones to come down for a few days' shoot- 
ing. A few minutes' shooting has proved quite enough 
for me — and for Tremor too. Ah, I hear footsteps — 
the detective again, perhaps. Shall I give myself up, 
or try to escape? I'll back to my hiding place, and 
think about it; but I won't listen at all this time, for 
I don't like to hear anything unpleasant about my- 
self. (Exit, L.) 

Enter Frank Tremor, terrified, R. 

Tremor. Dear me ! I am quite out of breath. I 
thought I should have missed the train, now I find it 
doesn't leave for another quarter of an hour. I must 
try to get into it unobserved, get to the city, pack up 
a few things, and then fly the country. Who would 
ever have thought that I, Frank Tremor, would ever 
have been guilty of shooting a friend. Poor Archy! 



A BUDGET OF BLUNDERS 105 

He would have been alive and well at this moment, if 
Jones had not put that horrid gun into my hands telling 
me to take good aim. My friend Aspen and myself, 
not being used to firearms, and wishing to practice 
alone, got apart from the rest of the party, before we 
attempted to shoot anything. It seemed to me that 
we both fired together — an instant after I heard a cry 
of pain from Archy, then all was quiet. I gave a cry 
of terror myself, when I realized that I had shot my 
friend, instead of bringing down a bird. I wonder if 
I shall swing for it. I cannot prove that it was an 
accident. Dear me, how I tremble! I think it will 
be best to fly the country. Ah, Archy, when we ac- 
cepted Jones's invitation to come here for a short holi- 
day, I little thought I should be the means of killing 
my friend. (Steps.) Ah, who comes? Keep still, 
my heart. 

Enter Ferret, R. 

Ferret (aside). Ah, who's this? 

Trem. (aside). I hope my looks won't betray me. 

Ferret (aside). I'll interrogate him. (Aloud, tak- 
ing newspaper from pocket and seating himself.) Go- 
ing to the city, sir? 

Trem. Yes — er — that is, perhaps, — I should say 
— no! 

Ferret (aside). He seems confused. (Aloud.) 
Have you heard of the horrible murder, sir? 

Trem. Mur — mur — murder? (Aside.) Fancy them 
getting it into the papers so soon. 

Ferret. Yes, sir; murder. According to this ac- 
count the murderers have got away. 

Trem. Indeed — what a good job — I mean what a 
— a — what a pity. 

Ferret (aside). He does not seem to relish the sub- 
ject. Surely I haven't caught one of my men so easily. 
I'll just put a straight question to him, and watch his 
face. 

Trem. (aside). I'm as good as hung — I know I 



106 A BUDGET OF BLUNDERS 

am. I can't even answer a question without a quiver 
in the voice,, and a shaking at the knees. 

Ferret. I say, Mister. 

Trem. Sir ! 

Ferret (looking him straight in the face). I sup- 
pose you won't mind giving me a civil answer, to a 
civil question? 

Trem. Oh, no — n — n — not at t — t — t — all. {Aside.) 
I wish he wouldn't look at me like that. 

Ferret. Then — do you know anything of this mur- 
der? 

Trem. Me? Oh, no, sir; it wasn't me. What a 
question to ask a stranger. 

Ferret. Well, you see, it's just the sort of question 
we should ask a stranger, for we could hardly put such 
a question to a friend, could we? 

Trem. Well really, I don't see why you couldn't 
just as well go and ask a friend that question, as stay- 
ing here, asking me. 

Ferret {aside). It strikes me very forcibly this is 
one of them. 

Trem. {aside). I'll endeavor to change the subject, 
then perhaps I shall appear more at my ease. {Aloud.) 
We are having some remarkably fine weather, sir? 

Ferret. Yes, we are indeed. Fine weather for 
shooting! 

Trenu {aside). Ah! then he knows me. I wonder 
who he is. May I have the honor of knowing who 
you are, sir? 

Ferret. Well, I have too many names to mention 
at once, so perhaps I had better tell you my profession. 
It may satisfy your curiosity, as much as knowing my 
name would. I am one of those gentlemen known as 
— detectives. 

Trem. {collapsing). I thought so. 

Ferret {aside). This is one of them, sure enough. 
I'll go and place officers round the place, so that he 
can't escape, keep a good watch, then perhaps I shall 
find the whereabouts of the other gentleman. If I 



i 



;: 



A BUDGET OF BLUNDERS 107 

arrest him now the other may get away ; while if I leave 
him here, his accomplice may join him, not knowing a 
detective has been conversing with his pal. {Aloud, 
going.) We shall meet again. 

Trem. Shall we? 

Ferret, Yes ; I shall return here shortly. 

Trem. Not if inconvenient for you to do so, I beg. 

Ferret. I never study my own convenience when 
engaged in looking after someone in whom I have 
taken an interest. You understand? {Exit, R.) 

Trem. Yes; I think I understand; but then, I have 
committed no crime. It was an accident; but can I 
prove it to have been an accident? Really, I think I 
had better endeavor to escape at once. There's a little 
passage here on the left, I wonder where it leads. I'll 
see. (Exit, L.) 

Enter Archy, cautiously, R. 

Archy. No one here — I heard voices a few moments 
ago. I heard murder mentioned. I knew they were 
speaking of me, so I put my fingers in my ears, not 
wishing to hear the relation of the terrible deed. I 
have determined to give myself up — I may be able to 
prove it was an accident — whether or no, I cannot go 
about with a murder on my conscience. 

Enter Ferret, L. 

Ferret. I have soon returned, you see. Why, you 
are not the man I left here a moment ago. 

Archy. Am I not? 

Ferret. You are not the man I was about to arrest 
on a criminal charge. 

Archy. Ah, then you are the detective. I am 
afraid I am the man. 

Ferret (aside). Strange! very strange. (Aloud.) 
Oh, indeed; do you know anything of that recent mur- 
der, then ? 

Archy. Well, I — er — you see — I certainly — but 
then, it was purely an accident. 



108 A BUDGET OF BLUNDERS 

Ferret. What was purely an accident? 

Archy. Why the — you know, do you not? 

Ferret. Not so well as you do, I reckon. 

Archy. You may arrest me, Mr. Detective, I'll make 
a confession later on. 

Ferret {aside). This may be a ruse to enable the 
other fellow to escape. I'll go and tell the officers 
to be extra vigilant. {Aloud.) Whoever you are, sir, 
it will be of no use you trying to get from here. The 
place is surrounded by officers. I thought you might 
like to know that. 

Archy. Oh, thank you, I am greatly obliged. {Exit 
Ferret, L.) Escape? I haven't the nerve for attempt- 
ing such a daring thing. Ah, Tremor, Tremor! Poor, 
Tremor ! 

•Enter Tremor, L. 

Trem. Who calls Tremor — ah, Archy, is that really 
you? 

Archy. What, Tremor — Frank Tremor — my best 
friend, did I not kill you after all? 

Trem. Kill me? no, indeed. I thought I had killed 
you. 

Archy. I assure you, Frank, you did no such thing. 
But what brought you here? 

Trem. I was fleeing from justice. And you? 

Archy. Oh, I was endeavoring to escape. 

Trem. But when I fired, surely I heard a cry of 
mortal agony escaping from your lips? 

Archy. No, you did not. That was the cry I gave, 
upon imagining I heard your cry of pain, which fol- 
lowed the firing of my gun. But tell me — {Steps.) 

Trem. Hush, someone approaches. 

Archy. Then follow me; in yonder room we can 
talk without interruption. The door has a bolt inside. 
Follow, softly, Tremor, softly. {Exeunt both on tip- 
toe, R.) 



I 



A BUDGET OF BLUNDERS 109 

Enter Ferret, L., with telegram. 

Ferret. Gone again — they cannot have escaped. No 
matter if they have, so far as I am at present con- 
cerned, for I have just received this telegram from 
Central office, saying that the persons I came after have 
been arrested in quite an opposite direction to that they 
were supposed to have taken; so the gentlemen I met 
here are not the criminals after all. Then, who can 
they be ? They seemed terribly frightened, there is some 
mystery. 

Enter Tremor and Archy. 

Archy. Ah, Mr. Detective! By-the-bye, I shall not 
make the confession I promised, for I find I did not 
kill this gentleman after all. You can see he is not 
dead, can you not? 

Ferret. Yes; I can see that. 

Trem. And, Mr. Detective, you will not have the 
satisfaction of arresting me, either; for, as you see, my 
friend here is alive and, well. 

Ferret. Gentlemen, I have no desire, at present, to 
arrest either of you; for I have just received intelli- 
gence that the men I mistook you gentlemen for have 
been arrested elsewhere. But I fail to understand your 
remarks. 

Archy. Well, you must know — I thought I had shot 
my friend here, and he thought he had rendered me the 
same service. 

Ferret. Oh. {Aside.) Nice lot, these. {Aloud.) 
I am still rather at a loss, gentlemen. 

Trem. If you care to know more, dine with us 
to-day, and we will explain everything. 

Ferret. I have no objection, sir, either to receiving 
the information or the dinner. 

Archy. But you must keep secret anything we may 
tell you. {Aside to Tremor.) Mustn't let Jones or his 
friends know of this. 

Trem. {aside to Archy). Certainly not; we'll buy 



110 VISITORS FROM THE CITY 

some woodcock in the city, take them home, and — well 
— we shot them of course. 

Ferret. Never fear, gentlemen, I can keep a secret. 

Trem. That's all right, old fellow, and at dinner 
we'll have a jolly good time laughing over our little 
"Budget of Blunders." 

Curtain. 

VISITORS FROM THE CITY 



CHARACTERS 

Mrs. Rachel Taylor, An old lady. 
Mrs. Matilda Taylor, Her daughter-in-law. 
Mrs. Rosalind Markley, Mrs. Rachel Taylor's niece 
from the city. 

tt Ti/r ' > Mrs. Markley's sons. 

Harry Markley, ) 3 

Mr. John Taylor, A farmer. 

Scene. — A room. Mrs. Rachel Taylor seated with 
spectacles on, knitting. Mrs. Matilda Taylor en- 
gaged in housework. 



Mrs. Taylor (looking from the window). There's 
a woman and two boys comin' right up to the house. 
I guess they've jest come from the depot. I wonder 
who they are. They've got purty good clothes on and 
look as if they might be high-faluters. There they be 
right at the door. (Knock at door, R.) 

Matilda. I suppose we'll soon see who they are. 
(Goes to door and opens it.) 

Mrs. Markley (outside). This is where Mr. John 
Taylor lives, I believe? 

Matilda. Yes, ma'am. Come in. 

Enter Mrs. Markley, Rufus and Harry. 

Mrs. Markley. I suppose you are John Taylor's 
wife? (Setting down some packages.) 



VISITORS FROM THE CITY 111 

Matilda. Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. Markley. But you don't know me? Well, I'm 
Mrs. Markley, from the city. And this is Aunt Rachel. 
(Advancing and taking Mrs. Taylor's hand.) You 
know me, don't you, Aunt Rachel? 

Mrs. Taylor. Yes, I kinder thought it was you. 

Mrs. Markley. You remember, Aunt Rachel, you 
were in the city some time ago and made us a visit. 

Mrs. Taylor. Yes, I remember it very well. It was 
five years ago and I stayed one day. 

Mrs. Markley. And these are my two boys. Rufus, 
you and Harry come up and shake hands with Aunt 
Rachel. 

Rufus (aside). Isn't she a funny lookin' old coon? 
(Harry advances and gives his hand to Mrs. Tay- 
lor.) 

Mrs. Taylor. Why, you've growed consid'able. 

Mrs. Markley (bringing Rufus forward). And this 
is Rufus. (Rufus shakes hands with Mrs. Taylor.) 

Mrs. Taylor. You've been growin' too. Are you 
a purty good boy? 

Rufus. Yes, sir — ee, I'm a bully boy. 

Mrs. Taylor. Well, I can't say much for your way 
of talkin'. 

Mrs. Markley. Oh, the boys in the city all talk 
that way. They don't mean any harm; it's a way they 
have. 

Mrs. Taylor. Well, I'd take it out of 'em. 

Rufus (aside). Oh, she's an old greenhorn. If 
she smokes I'll bet I'll have gunpowder in her pipe 
before to-morrow night. 

Matilda. Now, Mrs. Markley, let me have your bon- 
net. 

Mrs. Markley (removing her bonnet). Yes, and it 
will be a relief to get it off. I always feel more com- 
fortable with my bonnet off. My trunk is down at 
the depot. I suppose John will go down for it. By 
the way, where is John? 

Matilda. Oh, he's in the harvest field. 



112 VISITORS FROM THE CITY 

Mrs. Markley {seating herself). Oh, yes, I sup- 
pose it is harvest time with the farmers. 

Mrs. Taylor. Yes, and there's a powerful sight of 
work to do. Everybody's busy both in the house and 
out of it. And Matilda's got no help. 

Mrs. Markley. And such a delightful time to be 
in the country! The air is delicious, the grass is so 
green, and the fields look so inviting. 

Rufus. And I s'pose the cows are givin' a good deal 
of milk. 

Mrs. Markley (laughing). That's just like Rufus; 
he's always thinking about milk. And milk is delicious 
in this warm weather. I know you have good milk, 
too, for John always had the reputation of keeping the 
best of cows and of being a first class farmer. 

Harry. I don't want fore milk while I'm stayin' 
here — I want skippin's. 

Mrs. Taylor. And what does the boy mean by skip- 
pin's? 

Mrs. Markley {laughing). He means strippings. 
He has heard me say that fore milk is the first part 
of the milking and that is not as good as the strippings. 
He's got the wrong word. Poor boy! he hasn't been 
much in the country and doesn't know the right name 
of a good many things. 

Rufus (to Harry). Harry, let's go out and have 
some fun. I'm in the country now and I don't care 
what I do. I'll bet I'll cut up high. 

Harry. So'll I. And I'll bet I'll be ridin' on a 
cow's back afore half an hour. 

Mrs. Markley. That's right, boys; run out and 
play. I want you to enjoy yourselves while you are 
here. 

Rufus. I'll bet I'll do that. 

Harry. I'll bet I will too. (Exit Rufus and 
Harry, R.) 

Matilda. I will have to ask you to excuse me now, 
Mrs. Markley. I must go out and see to getting the 
dinner. 



VISITORS FROM THE CITY 113 

Mrs. Marhley. Oh, yes, certainly. But I don't 
want you to go to too much trouble on our account. I 
always drink tea, and then if you would give us a small 
beefsteak and some of your good bread — I know you 
have good bread — and some good butter — we have 
such poor butter in the city — and some boiled eggs 
and some jelly and jam and pie and some fresh rasp- 
berries just picked off the bushes — that will be suf- 
ficient. Oh, yes, I had almost forgotten about the milk. 
Give the boys plenty of milk — they're very fond of 
it — and I suppose they ought to have the strippings. 
(Smiling.) You know that was what Harry wanted. 

Matilda. Yes, ma'am. (Exit Matilda, L.) 

Mrs. Taylor (aside). I wonder if that woman's a 
fool, or if she thinks she's orderin' up dinner at a 
hotel. Matilda wasn't thinkin' so much about gettin' 
Up dinner for them as for the harvest hands. (To 
Mrs. Marhley.) How'd you like to have some salty 
pork for dinner, and some beans and sich? 

Mrs. Marhley. Oh, I detest pork, particularly salt 
pork. It's enough to destroy the health of any- 
body. 

Mrs. Taylor. Well, I calkilate that's all you'll get 
to-day for dinner. But I reckon John'll buy some beef 
to-morrow mornm' seein' as how you are here. 

Mrs. Marhley. Well, I'm sure I couldn't stay long 
if I didn't get something better than salt pork. 

Mrs. Taylor (aside). The impudence of some peo- 
ple is onparalleled. As if anybody cared how soon 
she went away. I don't want to be impolite, but I 
can skurcely keep from breakin' out and givin' her a 
piece of my mind. (To Mrs. Marhley.) I reckon 
you live purty grand in the city? 

Mrs. Marhley. Oh, yes; we live on Spring ave- 
nue, and, you know, anybody that lives there is con- 
sidered first class. 

Mrs. Taylor. Wall, no, I didn't know that. 

Mrs. Marhley. Oh, yes; and we keep a carriage 
and a span of horses, and we drive out every day. 



114, VISITORS FROM THE CITY 

Mrs. Taylor. You don't say! I reckon Tom's got 
a heap of money? 

Mrs. Markley. Tom? Do you mean Mr. Mark- 
ley? 

Mrs. Taylor. Yes, I mean Tom Markley. 

Mrs. Markley. He is always called Mr. Markley 
in the city. 

Mrs. Taylor. I don't care what he's called in the 
city — he's called Tom in the country, and Tom's good 
enough for him. 

Mrs. Markley. Yes, Mr. Markley is quite wealthy. 

Mrs. Taylor. Well, if he's quite wealthy it's a won- 
der he doesn't send his family off to Saratoga or some 
other highfalutin place in the summer instead of sendin' 
them here to sponge off hard workin' people in the 
middle of harvest. And they're so sassy about it, too. 
Want fresh beef and fresh picked raspberries and sich. 

Mrs. Markley (rising). Well, Mrs. Taylor, you old 
skinflint, I can go. I wouldn't stay in such a miserable 
old tumble down house anyhow. But didn't you come 
and sponge off us? 

Mrs. Taylor. Yes, I went calkilatin' to stay a week, 
but you might as well have pushed me out of the house 
as to have acted the way you did. I stayed one day. 
and I sent the money i;o pay for my boardin' and 
lodgin' as soon as I got home. Mind anything about 
that — hey? I'm gittin' purty old but I've got some 
spunk yet. 

Enter John Taylor dragging in Rufus and Harry. 

John (in a passion). Here, who do these boys be- 
long to? Take 'em out o' this purty quick or I'll cow- 
hide them within an inch of their lives. They've been 
chasin' the cows, and they've stuck one of 'em with a 
knife and I s'pose it'll die. Rosalind Markley, you're 
a cousin of mine, but don't you ever set foot on my 
farm again. 

Rufus. Ma, he's an old crank. 



VISITORS FROM THE CITY 115 

Harry. We was just wantin' to get some milk and 
Rufus stuck his knife into the cow, 'cause, he said, 
that was the way to get the milk out. He said it would 
just run out if he cut a hole in the cow. 

Mrs. Taylor. Lawful sakes ! what idiots. 

Mrs. Marhley. John Taylor, I'll never enter your 
door again. 

John. No, don't! By hokey, if you do I'll bust 
the whole family into shoe pegs. Get out and stay 
out. Last time I was at the door of your house your 
gal said you wasn't at home, and I saw you peepin' 
through an upstairs window not two minutes before. 
I was takin' you a present, too, but I calkilate you 
thought I looked countryfied and you was afeared I 
would want a meal's victuals. It's kinder queer you'd 
come here when you're ashamed of me and ashamed 
of my mother in the city. {Speaking very loud.) Git 
out, you sarpints. 

Rufus. Isn't he a snorter? 

Enter Matilda from the kitchen. 

Matilda. John, John; what is the matter? 

John. Oh ! the varmints ! What do you think they've 
done? They've been chasin' the cows all over the 
pastur' lot here by the house, and one of 'em actilly 
cut a hole in one of the cows and now, like as not, I'll 
lose the cow. 

Rufus. Well, I wanted some milk and I s'posed 
that was the way to get it. 

John. Git out! git out! Madam, take these brats 
and travel. Don't let 'em ever come within a mile of 
me, or I'll have 'em sent to the State's prison. 

Mrs. Markley. Come Rufus ! come Henry ! Let us 
get away. Oh, such a man! I'm ashamed of him. 

Rufus (as he goes out). Hi! old Hottentot, I wish 
your cow would die. 

Harry (as he goes out). Old Boozer, you act like 
as if you was drunk. 



116 THAT FIRE AT NOLAN'S 

Mrs. Marhley (as she goes out). I'll never set foot 
in this house again. 

John. Git out! Git out, you varmints! 
Curtain. 

McBride. 



THAT FIRE AT NOLAN'S 



CHARACTERS 

Mrs. Nolan, Woman of the house. 
Mr. Coogan, A caller. 

Scene. — A room in disorder. 



Mrs. Nolan. Stip in, Mr. Coogan. Good-marnin' 
to yer. I suppose it's askin' afther Tirry ye are, 
an' the foire. Jist walk this way an' contimplate the 
destrooction. The debree ain't so much as removed 
from the flure. 

Mr. Coogan. Howly saints! Phat an ixpinsive ca- 
tashtrophe, Mrs. Nolan! It's a tirrible dimonstration 
yez must have had. 

Mrs. N. Ah, that it wuz. (Sinking into a damp 
and mutilated rocking-chair.) Ter think of that bee- 
utiful Axminister carpet, an' those imported Daggystan 
roogs, an* our new Frinch mantel clock that had the 
gooldfish globe over it — all soppin' wet, an' shmashed 
to shmithereens. It 'ud be a tremingious calamity for 
anybody. * 

- Mr. C. Tremingious! that it wud. An* how did 
the occurince evintuate, Mrs. Nolan? 

Mrs. N. It wuz all along av the new domistic an' 
those divilish greeners. (In a somewhat agitated man- 
ner, shaking her head sadly.) Lasht wake, Katy, our 
ould gurrel that had bin wid us fer noine years, mar- 
ried a longshoreman, an' so I ingaged a domistic be 



THAT FIRE AT NOLAN'S 117 

the name af Mary Ann Reilly. She had lost two fin- 
gers aff av her lift hand, an' wuz rid-hidded an' pock- 
marked, but she wuz will ricommended, an' so I tuk her 
at oncet. Tirry didn't loike the looks af her, at all, 
at all. Bridget, sez he, her eyes are not shtraight, 
sez he. I don't like google-eyed paple in the house, 
sez he. Look out, or she'll be afther lookin' at ye or 
at Tummy, an' bewitchin' ye wid her ayvil eye, sez 
he. But wud ye belave me, Mr. Coogan, she only 
looked crucked whin she wuz narvous or excoited, and 
ginerally her eyes wuz as shtraight as yer own in 
yer hid. She hadn't bin in the house over two days, 
d'ye moind, whin I dropped the flat-oiron on me fut, 
scalded me hand, an' broke two chiney dishes in wan 
mornin', and that same day Tummy got inter the 
kitchen an' eat up three pounds of raishons, an' wuz 
shriekin' wid epleptic conwulsions all noight; so I be- 
gan ter put some faith in her bewitchment mesilf. 

Mr. C. Roight for ye (nodding approvingly at Mrs, 
Nolan). That wuz bad loock enough, so it was! 

Mrs. N. Will, that wuz only the beginnin'. The 
nixt thing wuz yisterday mornin' whin Tirry cum 
home wid a bashkit full o' little, round, green bottles. 
Phat's thim? sez I. Is it Christmas-tree toys, or is 
it patent midicine? Nayther, sez Tirry; it's a family 
foire departmint, sez he. Since we have no tilegraft 
in the house, sez he, an* insoorance is so expinsible, 
I've bin afther buy in' some han' grenades ter put out 
foires wid. Is it limonade is in 'em, did yer say? sez 
I. No, sez he. They're greenades, Bridget. The 
bottles is green, an' they aid ye ter put out a foire, 
sez he. So Tirry hung up wan dozen bottles in the 
parlor near the dure (where that woire rack is, Mr. 
Coogan), an' instroocted Mary Ann how to ixtinguish 
foires wid thim, by trowin' thim at the flames. 

Mr. C. Is it baseball that it is? 

Mrs. N. No, loike stonin' goats, more. Lasht 
avenin' the lamp wuz lit on the table, Tummy wuz 
playin' by the winder, an' me husband wuz takin' his 



118 THAT FIRE AT NOLAN'S 

convanience in his arruin-chair, wid his back to the 
dure. I wuz sittin' near the table a-readin' the mornm' 
Hurruld, an' Tummy all av a suddent lit the winder- 
shade run up near the top. Mudder, sez he, the b'yes 
have made a big bonfoire in the lot opposite, sez he. 
An' from where I sat I could see the reflixion av a 
blazin' tar-barrel in the lookin'-glass over the mantel- 
pace. Jist thin the dure opined behind me, and Mary 
Ann come in. She saw the reflixion too, an' yelled 
Foire! loike bloody murdher. I turns round to look 
at her, and she wuz trimblin' wid oxcoitemint, an' as 
google-eyed as a crab. Foire! yells she, an' wid that 
she grabs a bottle of greenade, an' lets it fly. Smash! 
goes the bottle, an' doon come our twinty-dollar in- 
graving av St. Patrick drivin' the shnakes out of Ire- 
land. Crash! goes another, and over comes the clock. 
Hullup ! shouts Tirry, an' got out of his chair, but 
•whang, wan of the greeners hits him in the hid an' 
bursts all over him. Wid that he fell spacheless on the 
flure, an' I thought he wuz kilt entoirely. Tummy 
crawled under the sofa, an' I scrouched doon behind the 
table. All this toime that cross-eyed Mary Ann wuz 
screeching Foire! foire! an' plooggin' them bottles av 
greenade round the room. Bang! wan hits the vase 
full av wax fruit, that Tirry got at the fair. Slam! 
another puts out the loight, an' clears the lamp off the 
table, an' she foired the rist af the dozen bottles, roight 
an' lift, whang! smash! round in the dark. The glass 
wuz crashin', and the greenade stoof was splatterin' 
an' splashin' an' tricklin' all over the wall an' furnitoor. 

Mr. C. Mother o' Moses ! It's bushels of glass 
there is ivery where. How did it ind, Mrs. Nolan? 

Mrs. N. The b'yes over in the lot heard the 
scraychin' an' crashin', and they smothered their foire, 
an' come and bust in the front dure, ter see the foight 
they thought it wuz. Tirry is in bid, wid a poultice on 
his hid; an' Mary Ann is a-sittin' in the kitchen, pace- 
able as a lamb, lookin' at the ind av her nose fer occy- 
pation. She can pack up an' lave this viry day. As 



RECESS SPEECHES 119 

fer that young sphalpeen av a Tummy, he ought ter be 
licked fer littin' up the winder-shade. Take my ad- 
voice, Mr. Coogan, an' trust to the foiremin or an 
ould-fashioned pail av water, an' don't be afther buyin' 
flasks av cologny-perfume to put out foires wid. 

Mr. C. Ye're roight, Mrs. Nolan. That's sinsible 
information; an' I'll niver be google-eyed, nayther. 

Life. 

RECESS SPEECHES 



CHARACTERS 
Jennie Jones, 
Allie Bell, 
Fannie Smith, 
Ida Harvey, 

Ella Johnston, A very small girl. 
Harry Jones, 
Frank Blair, 
John Thompson, 
Willie Burns, 
Charley Scott. 

Scene. — A schoolroom. Time, noon recess. 



Harry. Boys and girls, "hear me for my cause, and 
be silent that you may hear." 

Frank. We are all attention. 

John. Hear, hear! 

Harry. The teacher is gone to dinner, and prob- 
ably will not return for an hour. I would respect- 
fully suggest that we have some fun — a new kind of 
fun — to-day. 

Willie. I suppose you have got a new idea into your 
head. Well, open your mouth and proceed to tell us 
all about it. 

Allie. Harry is always thinking up something good. 
I wish I was such a thinker. 



120 RECESS SPEECHES 

John. So do I. Hurrah for Harry Jones! 

Ida. Boys, be still. You make so much noise it is 
hard for Harry to speak. 

Fannie. Harry Jones, proceed. 

Harry. There seems to be no opening for a nice 
young man. 

Willie. Proceed, Mr. Jones, and I will attend to 
the first girl that speaks. 

All the Girls. In what way, I'd like to know? 

Willie. You would like to know, eh? 

All the Girls. Yes. 

Willie. Well, if a girl speaks, I'll put a head on 
her, behind the ear. 

John. Cruel Willie! 

Fannie {disdainfully). Just like Willie Burns, al- 
ways using slang phrases. 

Ida. Naughty boy! 

Frank. Mr. Jones, pay no attention to the useless 
conversation that is going on around you, but proceed 
to enlighten us in regard to the new kind of fun of 
which you have spoken. 

Charley. High flown language by Frank Blair. 

Fannie. Which is something unusual. 

Harry. I was merely going to propose that we 
have a discussion, or some speeches and songs. 

Allie. Oh, we can't play at that! 

Harry. Why not? In these days of women's 
rights and women's conventions the little girls at school 
should learn to speak. 

Ella. Harry, I tan speat a speech. 

Harry. You can ! I dare say you will be an honor 
to your country and an ornament to society. You may 
proceed with your speech, and the audience will keep 
silence. 

Ella (makes a bow and commences to speak). My 
name is Ella. I'se on'y a teenty 'ittle dirl, but I dess I 
tin speat most as well as the big dirls. I likes to go 
to school and yearn tings out of the 'pellin' book and 
the 'ittle geog'aphy. My teacher is a dood lady. She 



RECESS SPEECHES 121 

ast me to speat a speech. Some of the big dirls tink 
it is awful hard to speat speetzes, but I don't tink it 
is so awful hard. I'd a dood 'eal yather speat speetzes 
yan to eat tandy. By bruzzer Frankie yikes tandy, but 
I never tared much for it. It mates one of my tooses 
ate yite up here in my upper jaw. (Opening her 
mouth and pointing, to tooth.) It is awful to have 
the toot-ate. I'd a dood 'eal yather have the hed ate, 
or a bad spell of sitness. Yat's all. (Bows and sits 
down.) 

Harry, Bravo ! 

Frank. Excellent ! 

John. Magnificent ! 

Willie. Tip top! 

Harry. Miss Ella Johnston has opened the exer- 
cise nobly. She will be followed by Ida Harvey. 

Ida. I can speak the speech I have learned for next 
Friday. 

Harry. That will suit to a T. Let us have it. 

Ida (speaks). 

You'd scarce expect a girl like me 
To walk up here where all can see, 
And make a bow, and shout and fret 
Like some aggressive suffragette. 
You know I'm very small and young, 
And do not talk with oily tongue. 
Indeed, I now am frightened so 
I'd like to make my bow and go. 
But while I'm here I'll say to you 
That I do know a thing or two. 
I've learned to read and sing and spell, 
And wash the dishes too, quite well. 
I always mind my p's and q's, 
And wear substantial leather shoes. 
I never yet have learned to lace, 
And hope I'll never paint my face. 
I do not like the man who smokes, 
And tells bad lies and vulgar jokes; 



122 RECESS SPEECHES 

I do not like the man who chews, 
And goes around to tell the news. 
Such vulgar creatures I despise — 
They should be small in ladies' eyes. 
But then there are some girls, you know, 
Who'd give their necks to have a beau. 
And now, my friends, I've had my say, 
And so I'll bow and go away. 
(Bows and sits down.) 

Willie. That's a stunner of a speech. I have no 
hesitation in saying that that young lady is going to be 
rather careful in her selection of a beau. She is down 
on tobacco. Her head is level. That's all. 

Jennie. Mr. Burns seems to be a self-appointed 
critic. 

Harry. I think it is right and proper for us to 
criticize each other. We want an extemporaneous 
speech now from Frank Blair. 

Frank. Oh, dear! 

John. Brave boy, ascend the rostrum. 

Frank. On what subject shall I speak? 

Harry. Let's see. Yes, you may take "Go Ahead" 
for your subject. 

Charley. And — go ahead. 

Frank. I think the country is in a dreadful state 
when a man is compelled to make a speech. 

Jennie. A boy, you mean. 

Allie. Yes, a boy. 

Frank. No, sir; I mean a man. As Shakespeare 
says, "To this point I'll stand." 

Willie. Well, you can stand on your head for all 
I care, but go ahead with your "Go Ahead." 

Frank. Don't hurry me. Give me time to collect 
my scattered thoughts. 

Charley. Yes, give him time. 

Harry. And while he is thinking, John Thompson 
may make a speech on "Spelling!" 

Fannie. Oh, the idea! 



RECESS SPEECHES 123 

John. Mr. Jones, keep those young ladies quiet. 
Now, here goes. (Speaks.) 

This is School No. 7. We are brave boys in No. 
7 — we are. We had a spelling here not long ago, and 
the No. 8 boys came over to whip us; but they didn't 
do it — no, sir! They've got some pretty fair spellers 
over there, too; but they had more than they could do 
when they came over here to beat us spelling. It is 
grand to be a good speller, and it looks awful to see a 
letter with bad spelling in it. Cousin Sue — she's a 
big girl, you know — she had a beau once. He came 
to see her for quite awhile, and everybody thought 
they were going to get married. After awhile the beau 
went away a short distance, and wrote cousin Sue a let- 
ter. There was some awful spelling in it, and when 
cousin Sue read it she came to the conclusion that she 
would not marry him. That letter made her love fade 
away. She couldn't and she wouldn't marry a poor 
speller. Now, if we want to keep out of that kind 
of trouble — the kind of trouble cousin Sue's beau got 
into, I mean — we had better learn to spell. There is 
one thing I can't understand. I don't know how Mr. 
Webster — that great man who made the big dictionary 
— ever learned to spell so many words. I think it 
would be hard enough to learn to spell all the words 
in the common spelling book. The hardest word I 
ever tried to spell was Aldibirontifostiforniostichus. 
Can any of you spell it? I tried half a day to spell 
it and got tangled every time. Where's my hat? (Sits 
down.) 

Harry. Charley Scott is requested to say a few 
words on the subject of "The Horse." 

Charley (rises and speaks). The horse is an ani- 
mal. He has four long legs and a long tail. 

Willie. Ours hasn't. It's a bob-tail. 

Harry. Let the speaker proceed, and let there be 
no interruptions. 

Charley. The horse has four long legs and a long 
tail. The fore feet are stuck on before and the hind 



124 RECESS SPEECHES 

feet are stuck on behind. The tail is also stuck on 
behind. "I come not here to talk." "You know too 
well the story of our thraldom." "He is fallen." 
"We may now pause before that splendid prodigy — " 

Willie (laughs). He! he! 

John. Have you the audacity to say that the horse 
is a splendid prodigy? 

Charley. Oh, I'm so tired. I think I'll sit down. 

Willie (laughs). He! he! He came not here to 
talk, and he talked but little. 

John. How is it with that speaker who wished to 
collect his senses? 

Frank. Thoughts, sir, thoughts. Mr. Jones, I am 
ready to proceed. 

Harry. "Go ahead" is your subject. 

Willie. Go on; proceed; continue; push ahead. 

Frank (speaks). Go ahead is a good motto. If 
a boy has a hard lesson to learn he is likely to sit down 
and give utterance to such expressions as "I can't! I 
can't!" "It is too hard!" "I couldn't learn that in 
two weeks!" This isn't right. I am only a little boy, 
but I know that this is not right. You ought to open 
your book, commence at the first of the lesson, and go 
ahead. The harder you study, the easier the lesson 
will become. That's what Uncle Timothy says, and 
he ought to know. If you go out to play ball or cro- 
quet you don't give up until the game is finished, do 
you? No, you go ahead. All great men and all 
wealthy men were go-ahead-a-tive fellows. When I 
grow up I mean to be a go-ahead-a-tive man. I don't 
intend to sit down and cry about it if I should lose 
a few hundred dollars or get my house burned down. 
No, I intend to go to work and work harder, and in 
this way make up for my loss. Bob Green is a go- 
ahead sort of fellow. When — when — I believe I 
haven't anything more to say. 

Willie. You fizzled out, didn't you? 

Frank. No, I thought it wouldn't be proper to con- 
sume any more time. 



LOVE AND DOUGHNUTS 125 

Harry. We would now be very glad if Fannie 
Smith would favor us with a song. 

Fannie. I have a cold, and my throat is sore, and 
I have the toothache, but I'll try. 

Willie. There's pluck! 

(Fannie sings. After singing for a short time John, 
discovers that the teacher is coming. ) 

John. The teacher's coming! 

Harry. Then this meeting is adjourned. 

Curtain. 

McBride. 



LOVE AND DOUGHNUTS 



CHARACTERS 

Oliver Jonathan Jackson, A widower. 
Jonah Capsdell, A simple-minded youth. 
Frank Ray, A mischievous youth. 
Miss Ellen Elder, An elderly maiden. 

PROPERTIES 

Tables, chairs, sofa, easy chairs, stool, etc. Closet, 
R. U. E. Two plates of doughnuts for Ellen. 



Scene. — A room, neatly furnished. Closet, R. U. E. 
Jonah Capsdell and Frank Ray discovered. 



Frank. Jonah, have you never thought of getting 
married ? 

Jonah. Oh, yes; yes, sir; I hev thought of that 
heaps of times. But I don't know whether I could 
git anybody to hev me or not. 

Frank. Pooh! you're too modest. Have you ever 
asked anybody? 



126 LOVE AND DOUGHNUTS 

Jonah. No, I hevn't jest axed anybody to hev me, 
but I've come awful near to it. 

Frank. How near did you come to it? 

Jonah. Well, I thought about it a good deal, and 
I felt like it a heap, and I purty near axed a girl, 
but somehow I didn't ax. 

Frank. Ah, yes, I see; you were afraid to ask. 

Jonah. No, I wasn't afraid to ax; no, sir; no, 
sir-ee; but somehow I didn't quite git it done. 

Frank. What was the reason, then, that you did 
not ask the lady? 

Jonah. 'Twasn't a lady; it was jest a girl. I don't 
care fur tellin' who it was. It was Sally Slope. She's 
a girl, isn't she? 

Frank. Yes; but why was it you didn't ask Sally 
when you felt so much like doing so? 

Jonah. Well, somehow, I don't jest exactly know, 
but jest about the time I was goin' to ax her there 
was a flutter about the innermost regions of my heart 
and I felt sorter queer, and I thought I'd jest better 
not try too much for fear I would take the palpitula- 
tions or the colly wobbus or somethin' or another. 

Frank. You shouldn't have given up so easily. 
Sally's married now and so you've lost her. 

Jonah (wiping his eyes). Yes, she's gone, poor 
dear girl, and I jest thought a heap of her. Do you 
think it would be goin' ag'in the Scripters to go and 
shoot the man what took her away from me? 

Frank. Yes, that would be awful, cruel, wicked. 
But you needn't despair; there are hundreds of other 
girls. You know there is an old maxim which says: 
"There are as good fish in the sea as ever were caught." 

Jonah. There's some whales in the sea, too, isn't 
there ? 

Frank. Yes. 

Jonah. Well, s'posm' we go a fishm* some day. 
There's plenty of worms out in our back yard. 

Frank. But it is another kind of a fish you want to 
catch. You want to get married, don't you? 



LOVE AND DOUGHNUTS 127 

Jonah. Yes, I want to get married awful bad, but 
if I can't git married I'd like to go a fishin'. 

Frank. Well, sir, I think I can get a wife for you. 

Jonah. Oh, kin you? I'm so tickled I could a'most 
fly. Who is the girl? Is she purty? 

Frank. No, not beautiful, but she would, no doubt, 
make an excellent wife. 

Jonah. I'd like to hev a purty girl. Sally was a 
purty girl, but she's gone. (Sobbing and wiping his 
eyes.) It's purty hard to keep from cryin' when I 
think about Sally. 

Frank. Pooh! don't think about Sally; she's gone 
and there are other girls who are a great deal bet- 
ter. 

Jonah. Now, do you railly think so? I thought 
Sally was purty nice. 

Frank. But the one I have in view will suit you a 
great deal better. She is somewhat older than you, 
but you will not object to her on that account, I sup- 
pose ? 

Jonah. Oh, no, I don't care if she only makes good 
pies and doughnuts. 

Frank. Well, I can assure you that as a pie and 
doughnut baker she is equaled by few and excelled by 
none. 

Jonah. That means she's purty good at makin' pies 
and doughnuts, doesn't it? 

Frank. Yes, that's what I mean. She'll suit you 
exactly. As I said before, she is somewhat older than 
you, but that is better for you. I think you should 
marry a lady older than yourself. 

Jonah. I thought it was a girl I was goin' to marry. 

Frank. Yes, it is. A lady is only another name 
for a girl. 

Jonah. Well, I didn't know. I allers had an idee 
that a lady was a highfalutin' sort of a woman. 

Frank. Don't you want to know who the girl is 
you are to marry? 

Jonah. Yes, I'd like to know, and if you hev got 



128 LOVE AND DOUGHNUTS 

any of her doughnuts in your pockets I'd like to taste 
one, jest to see how th^y do taste. 

Frank. I am sorry to say I have non? of her dough- 
nuts with me. But you can rest assured that she can't 
be beaten in the line of making and baking doughnuts. 

Jonah. Well, I'm awful glad to hear it, fur I'm 
jest goin' to purty nigh live on doughnuts when I git 
married. 

Frank. That's right, live on doughnuts and you'll 
be a happy man. 

Jonah. Yes, that's jest what I think about it. Now 
I s'pose you might tell me the name of the girl. 

Frank. Her name is Ellen Elder. She is an aunt 
of mine. I suppose you have seen her? 

Jonah. Is it that old woman what you call Aunt 
Ellen? 

Frank. Yes, that's the one. 

Jonah. She can make doughnuts, I s'pose? 

Frank. Yes, splendid doughnuts. 

Jonah. Well, I would hev thought that she was jest 
somewhat too old to make sich things. I s'pose she 
kin make doughnuts, but then there's a difference in 
doughnuts. Almost anybody kin make some kind of 
doughnuts, but I allers had an idee that it took a purty 
girl to make good doughnuts. Your Aunt Ellen, she 
isn't very purty. 

Frank. Oh, she might be said to be passably hand- 
some, but what is beauty when compared with dough- 
nuts ? 

Jonah. Yes, I know, doughnuts is the principal 
thing. Well, do you think I kin git her? 

Frank. You mustn't be afraid to ask her, anyhow. 
Don't get frightened as you did when you were going 
to ask Sally Slope. 

Jonah. Oh, I didn't git frightened; no, sir; no, 
sir-ee. But I jest thought I might take the palpitula- 
tions, and then I'd be a goner. 

Frank. Well, you must ask Aunt Ellen if you want 
her. You can't expect a woman to ask you. 



LOVE AND DOUGHNUTS 129 

Jonah. But if she would only jest ax me you know 
it would keep me from havin' that fluttering and I 
heerd of a man what died once on account of a flut- 
terin' of that kind. 

Frank. The fluttering won't hurt you. Don't be a 
goose and let a good chance slip past you. 

Jonah. Oh, yes, I'll ax her; yes, I'll ax her; yes, 
sir-ee. 

Frank. Remember if you lose her you lose an ex- 
cellent doughnut maker. Come along and I'll show 
you where to find her. 

Jonah. Oh, I'll ax her. Yes, I'm sot upon it. Yes, 
sir-ee, I'll ax her, colly wobbus, or no colly wobbus; 
yes, sir-ee. (Exeunt Frank and Jonah, L.) 

Enter Miss Ellen Elder, R. 

Ellen. I s'pose I'm fifty years of age, or p'r'aps 
more, and I must make one more, yes, one more des- 
perate effort to git married. Why is it that I am 
obliged to pine in silence and solitude while others are 
gittin' married every day? Oh, I long for a lovin' 
companion to cheer me in my droopin' hours ! I long 
fur a companion who can pour consolation into my 
willin' ears. Yes, I must make one more desperate 
effort to git married; I must not live to be called an 
old maid/ Oh, I couldn't endure it! But what shall 
I do? Shill I go out and ax the men sect to take pity 
on me? Shill I go and ax Oliver Jonathan Jackson 
to be my lovin' pardner through this world? Oh, I'd 
love to be united to Oliver Jonathan in the holy bonds 
of wedlock, but I don't think I could go and ax him. 
How I wish he would come and ax me ! (Knock at 
door.) Goodness gracious ! I wonder if it is Oliver 
Jonathan. (Opens door.) How do you do? Come 
in. I thought it was another man. 

Enter Jonah Capsdell, R. 

Jonah. I jest thought I'd come in to see you, Aunt 
Ellen. Yes, sir-ee, I jest thought I'd come in. 



130 LOVE AND DOUGHNUTS 

Ellen. I'm not your Aunt Ellen, but take a chair 
and sit down. 

Jonah (seating himself). I felt sorter lonesome; 
yes, sir, that's the way I felt — sorter lonesome, and I 
thought I'd come in and talk to you fur a spell. 

Ellen (aside). Poor fellow! he has no one to talk 
to and no one to cheer up his lonely life. I will con- 
verse with him fur awhile. (To Jonah.) And you 
feel lonesome sometimes, do you? 

Jonah. Yes, I do, yes, sir, yes, sir-ee. I hev come 
in to talk to you fur awhile. Do you like doughnuts ? 

Ellen. No, I don't care nothin' fur them. They 
are too rich to agree with my digestification. 

Jonah. Oh ! 

Ellen. I s'pose you don't understand big words. 

Jonah. Some big words I don't and some big words 
I do. You are rale sure you don't like doughnuts? 

Ellen. I suppose I would like them if they would 
agree with my digestification. 

Jonah. Well, sir, they agree with my bustification 
tip-top. Yes, sir; yes, sir-ee; they do that. I jest 
think I could eat doughnuts fur two weeks and never 
stop. Yes, sir. Oh, doughnuts is so good! 

Ellen. I fear you are a gormandizer. 

Jonah. No, I'm a blacksmith. I'm tryin' to Tarn 
the trade with Peter Jenkins, but he says I'll never 
l'arn nothin*. 

Ellen. You wanted to see me, did you? 

Jonah. Yes, I jest heerd you could make tip top 
doughnuts, and I thought I'd come in and see you 
about it. 

Ellen. Who told you I could make good doughnuts ? 

Jonah. Frank Ray told me. 

Ellen. You shouldn't let your mind run on sich 
groveling and unsatisfactory things. You should think 
about nobler and greater things. 

Jonah. Well, I jest think there can't be anything 
greater than doughnuts. 

Ellen. Do you ever read any? 






LOVE AND DOUGHNUTS 131 

Jonah. Yes, I read some, but I can't git along very- 
fast. There's some awful hard words in the books 
these times. 

Ellen. Do you like poetry? 

Jonah. Well, I railly don't know. I never tasted 
any, but I'm death on pie. 

Ellen. And you like pie, too? 

Jonah. . Yes, I do; yes, sir; yes, sir-ee. I heerd 
you was good at makin' pies, too. 

Ellen. Have you never thought anything about git- 
tin' married? 

Jonah (springing up). Hokey ! 

Ellen. What's the matter? 

Jonah. Oh, I was so startled — so kind of scared — 
I couldn't help jumpin'. Yes, I hev thought about 
it; yes, sir; yes, sir-ee. 

Ellen. Thought about what? 

Jonah (sitting down again). About that what you 
was a speakin' about. Yes, sir; I hev thought about 
it; yes, sir. 

Ellen. Do you mean gittin' married? 

Jonah. Yes, that's it; yes, sir-ee. I hev come in 
to talk about it, but I was a'most afeared to say any- 
thing. 

Ellen. Oh, you needn't be afraid to speak to me 
on that subject. I am always ready to sympathize and 
talk with anybody that has the great object of matri- 
mony in view. 

Jonah (aside). Hokey! I guess that means that 
she'll hev me. 

Ellen. Have you a pardner in view? 

Jonah. Hev I a what in which? 

Ellen. Have you a girl in view, or in other words, 
do you think of anyone you would like to git married to ? 

Jonah. Oh, yes; yes, sir. I hev my eye on one and 
I guess she'll hev me, but, ah! — eh, I can't jest say 
what I want to. 

Ellen. You need not fear to talk to me. I am your 
friend^ and I have a feller feelhV fur you. 



132 LOVE AXD DOUGHNUTS 

Jonah. Could you git me a few doughnuts jest to 
make me feel more strong and sorter spruced up like? 

Ellen. Certainly. Yes, I'll git you some dough- 
nuts. {Exit R.) 

Jonah. She's a purty nice girl, but I s'pose she 
must be middlin' old. I think I'll hev her. Yes, I'll 
ax her, if the doughnuts is all right. If I had her 
I think I'd be purty happy, fur I wouldn't do nothin' 
but eat doughnuts and pies. I'd give up the black- 
smithin' trade clean and forever. Frank Ray is a nice 
feller and I'm glad he sent me to see this girl. I 
s'pect he wanted me to be a relation of his'n. What 
relation will I be when I git married to this girl? I 
guess I will be his grandpap, or mebbe I will be his 
Uncle Bob. 

Reenter Ellen Elder, R., with plate of doughnuts. 

Ellen {setting plate on table beside Jonah). Here 
are some doughnuts, Jonah, and I made them. When 
you have smashticated some of them you can judge 
what I can do in that line. 

Jonah. Oh, my, but they do look good! 

Ellen. Help yourself, Jonah. 

Jonah {taking up a handful and commencing to eat). 
Oh, sich good doughnuts as these is ! {Eating greed- 
ily.) Oh, my, sich doughnuts ! I never did taste the 
like of sich doughnuts afore. 

Ellen. You like them then? 

Jonah {still eating). Yes, sir; yes, sir-eee. These 
is the smoothest doughnuts I ever got my tongue 
around. They will make me feel strong and sorter 
spruced up, and I kin say what I hev to say and not 
be a bit afeared. 

Ellen. You might go on and continner to speak 
of your arrangements for gittin' married while you 
are eatin\ 

Jonah. Oh, no; no, sir-ee. Let me put down these 
doughnuts first, these good doughnuts, these smooth 
doughnuts. And when I hev got that done I will feel 



LOVE AND DOUGHNUTS 133 

strong, and not a bit trimbly, and I can talk about git- 
tin' married jest as slick as you please. 

Ellen* It always did delight my heart and my con- 
science and my powers of imagination and all sich 
things to see a young man enjoyin' doughnuts. 

Jonah (still eating). Oh, these is jest sich nice, 
good, sweet, slick, smooth doughnuts, and the girl which 
made them must hev been an awful purty girl. 

Ellen. I made those doughnuts. 

Jonah (eating the last doughnut). Yes, I know, 
and I think you're a rale purty girl. (Springing up.) 
Oh, hokey! I said that afore I thought. 

Ellen. Sit down, Jonah, don't be alarmed. If you 
think I am a purty girl there is nothin' wrong about 
sayin' so. 

Jonah (seating himself). But I ain't used to sayin* 
sich things and it sorter skeers me. 

Ellen. But if you think I am a fair looking woman 
it will please me to hear you say so. You might go 
on now and tell me who you goin' to marry. (Knock 
at door.) 

Jonah (springing up). Hokey! Thunder and to- 
backey ! There's somebody comin'. What'll I do ? 

Ellen (going to closet and opening door). Here, 
step into this closet and you'll not be seen. 

Jonah. But who's a comin'? I'd like to know. 

Ellen. I don't know who it is. You will not be 
disturbed if you keep quiet. 

Jonah (going into the closet). I wish you would 
give me a few more of them doughnuts jest to keep 
me from feelin' weak and trimbly. 

Ellen. No, I haven't time now. 

(Jonah Capsdell goes into the closet, and Ellen ISlder 
closes the door. Another knock at door L. Ellen El- 
der opens it.) 

Enter Oliver Jonathan Jackson, L. 

Oliver. Good-evenin', Miss Elder. I'm glad to see 
you lookin' so well. 



134 LOVE AND DOUGHNUTS 

Ellen. And I can say the same to you, Mr. Jack- 
son. {Places chair.) Be seated and sit down on a 
chair, Mr. Jackson. You are quite a stranger. 

Oliver. Well, yes, I believe I hevn't been here fur 
some time. 

Ellen. Why do you absent yourself so long from 
the presence of your friends, Mr. Jackson? 

Oliver. Well, to tell the truth, I hev been mighty 
busy fur a week or two. You see I hev been buildin' 
a new shop and a new cow stable, and Mewilda Jane 
Eliza, she's my oldest darter, she's been down with 
the measles and Sally Ann has had the whoopin' cough 
purty bad. 

Ellen. How tryin' it must be, Mr. Jackson, fur 
you to be both a pa and a ma to your children. 

Oliver. Well, yes, it is a purty tough predicament 
to be in. Miss Elder, I hev thought — yes, I hev 
thought, Miss Elder — that is, I think we will hev some 
rain before long if the wind keeps on blowin' the way 
it is blowin' now. 

Ellen. Yes, there is an appearance of rain, ac- 
cordin' to the geometry which hangs out on brother 
William's pizarro. But what were you goin' to say, 
Mr. Jackson, in regard to your children and their fu- 
ture? You was just sayin' that you had thought some- 
thin' or another and then you stopped. 

Oliver. Well, to tell the truth, Miss Ellen, I think 
I had better not say anything more at this time. 

Ellen {aside). The doughnuts loosened Jonah's 
tongue; perhaps they would make Mr. Jackson talk 
better, too, and mebbe they would help him to come to 
the point. {To Oliver.) Excuse my prepositional ab- 
sence and I will bring some refreshments. 

Oliver. Oh, Miss Elder, you needn't go to the 
trouble. 

Ellen. No trouble, Mr. Jackson, no trouble at all. 
{Exit, R.) 

Oliver. Well, now, to tell the truth about the mat- 
ter, that's a purty fine woman. She seems to be perlite 






LOYE AND DOUGHNUTS 135 

and gentlemanly, and I s'pose I couldn't do better than 
to ax her to be Mrs. Oliver Jonathan Jackson. I hev 
an idee that she would take purty good care of the 
childer and be a reasonable sort of a stepmother. If 
I could git along without a wife I s'pose it would be 
better, but I don't see how I can manage to git along. 
The long and the short of the matter is, I hev too 
much to do. I can't do the bossin' inside of the house 
and outside of the house, too. Mewilda Jane Eliza's 
got the measles purty bad and Sally Ann is holler in* 
around with the whoopin' cough. I guess I'll ask Miss 
Elder to-night. She's a purty fine woman and I s'pose 
I couldn't do any better. 

Reenter Ellen Elder, R. f with plate of doughnuts. 

Ellen. Mr. Jackson, you mustn't criticize and 
abominate my doughnuts too much. I didn't git them 
made quite right — that is, they weren't managed alto- 
gether in doughnutical style. (Handing them to 
Oliver.) Take some. 

Oliver (taking off one). Oh, I'll bet they are good 
if you made them. Maria Jane Smith says that as a 
doughnut baker you can't be excelled. 

Ellen (trying to blush). Oh, you men are sich flat- 
terers ! I can make tolerable doughnuts, but I missed 
these dreadfully. Try and worry a few of them down, 
Mr. Jackson. 

Jonah (shouting from the closet). Don't let that 
big hog eat all them doughnuts. 

Oliver (starting up). What's that? I thought I 
heard a noise. 

Ellen. Oh, it was nothin' but my brother's children 
hollerin' around the house. They are continually 
shoutin' and gymnasticatin'. Be seated, Mr. Jackson, 
and do try and worry down some more of these horrid 
doughnuts. 

Oliver (seating himself). Don't call those dough- 
nuts horrid. They are no sich thing. They are the 
best doughnuts I ever had the pleasure of eatin'. 



136 LOVE AND DOUGHNUTS 

Ellen. Oh, there you go again ! I declare the men 
sect are all a set of flatterers. {Aside.) I must give 
Jonah some doughnuts or he'll make trouble. J^Takes 
a few doughnuts unobserved by Oliver, opens the closet 
door and pitches them in.) There, you blockhead, eat 
them and keep quiet. {Closes closet door.) Now, 
Mr. Jackson, help yourself to the doughnuts. 

Oliver, Oh, indeed, I couldn't eat another one. 

Ellen {seating herself). That's because they ain't 
good. I am very sorry I missed the maneuverin' of 
them doughnuts. But I feel purty sure that the next 
lot I make will be all right. 

Oliver. Oh, you needn't apologize fur them dough- 
nuts, fur they can't be beat by any woman in the 
United States of America. 

Ellen. Mr. Jackson, I am spasmodically thankful 
for your good opinion of my horrid and detestable 
doughnuts, but jest come over next week and see if 
you don't git somethin' better in the doughnutical line. 

Oliver {placing his chair near Ellen's). Miss El- 
der, I hev somethin' to say to-night, and I s'pose you 
won't care if I sit alongside of you. 

Ellen. Oh, no, Mr. Jackson, not at all. There 
ain't nothin' wrong about that. 

Oliver. You know how I am situated, Miss Elder. 
You know I hev no one to oversee in the house and 
keep things from goin' to smash and destruction. Me- 
wilda Jane Eliza is down with the measles and Sally 
Ann she's a whoopin' round the house with the whoopin' 
cough. In this dreadful state of confusion it 'pears 
to me that it devolves upon me to git a wife. I hev 
thought the matter over for some time and I feel purty 
sure I couldn't do better than to git you. Now, Miss 
Elder, I won't make no big speeches about the matter, 
but I'll jest ax you plain and square, will you marry me? 

Ellen {leaning against him). Oh, Mr. Jackson — 
dear Oliver Jonathan, this is so unexpected; it is almost 
like a clap of thunder in a field of potatoes. Do you 
really mean it, dear Oliver Jonathan? 



LOVE AND DOUGHNUTS 137 

Oliver. In course I do. Say the word, Ellen; say 
that you will hev me. 

Ellen. Yes, Oliver Jonathan, I will be thine own. 
You are a noble man and I will have you. 

Jonah (bursting the closet door and dashing out*). 
Murder! Thunder! Hokey and Jerusalem! 

Oliver (jumping up and running to the door). Je- 
hosaphat! what's broke? 

Ellen. Oh, Oliver Jonathan, you needn't be alarmed. 
Come back; it is only Jonah. 

Oliver (returning). Oh, is it that puddin' head! 

Jonah. Oh, you mustn't take her from me. No, 
sir; no, sir-ee; don't take her from me! I'll jest fight 
or I'll shoot; yes, sir-ee. She makes smooth dough- 
nuts, and she must be my wife. Frank said she'd 
hev me. 

Oliver. Silence, you dunce. 

Ellen. Jonah, go home and don't disturb us, for we 
are a happy couple. 

Jonah. Oh, I can't give you up; no, sir! no, sir-ee. 
Oh, I would be weak and trimbly all my life if I didn't 
git to eat your doughnuts ! Oh, they are sich good, 
slick, nice, smooth doughnuts. 

Ellen. Jonah, I can't marry you. It's an absurdi- 
fication to speak of sich a thing. I have a nobler hus- 
band in view and a nobler work to perform. Run 
home, Jonah, and don't make a dunce of yourself. 

Jonah (wimpering) . Oh, boo hoo ! You 'peared to 
like me a heap till this, old feller come. Yes, you did, 
and I'll go and shoot myself. That's allers the way; 
I'm jest losin' everybody. First I lost Sally Slope and 
now I hev lost you ! And you could make sich smooth 
doughnuts — boo hoo! I'll jest go away and die some 
day, I s'pect, so I will. Oh, dear! • 

Oliver. Come, beautiful Ellen, take my arm and 
we'll retire from this scene. 

Ellen. Yes, we'll withdraw. Good-by, Jonah. Go 
home and don't make a dunce of yourself. (Exeunt 
Oliver and Ellen, L.) 



138 THE QUACK DOCTOR 

Jonah (crying). Yes, that's the way it is allers. 
One leaves me and then another leaves me. Yes, sir; 
yes, sir-ee. And them was sich smooth doughnuts. 
Oh, I jest s'pect 111 die some day and that'll be good 
fur the people that leaves me. Yes, it will so; yes, 
sir; yes, sir-ee. And them was .sich smooth dough- 
nuts. Boo hoo ! {Exit.') 

Curtain. 

McBride. 



THE QUACK DOCTOR 

A Negro Dialogue 

CHARACTERS 

Pompey. Zeke. Dr. Snowball. 

Scene. — A chamber, with a practical door in the flat. 
A table and two chairs. 

Pompey dusting the chairs; Zeke looks in at the door. 



Zeke. Hi, blackey. (Closes door again.) 

Pom. Who's dar? Why, dar's nobody! Seems to 
me dat somebody let his name fall at de door just now. 

Zeke (opens door and walks in). Dat you, Pomp? 
Whar had you been for a week back.? 

Pom. Been nowhar — nebber had a weak back. 

Zeke. What, nebber? 

Pom. Hardly eber; always as strong as a lion — 
feel just like a lion dis blessed minute. 

Zeke. You just looks like a lion, Pomp. 

Pom. Why, did you eber see a lion? 

Zeke. See one dis morning down at de stables; 
you should just hab seen de long ears ob de critter. 

Pom. Did he roar, Zeke? 

Zeke. Roar? I tink he did; he nearly frighten 



THE QUACK DOCTOR 139 

me out ob my seven senses ? He go "Hee haw, hee 
haw !" 

Pom. Why, dat was a donkey, Zeke. 

Zeke. Eh, a donkey? 

Pom. Yes. 

Zeke. Can't help it, Pomp: you looks just like him 
for all dat. 

Pom. Dat accounts for de strong likeness between 
you and me, Zeke. Eberybody says we oughter be 
twins. 

Zehe. But I say, Pomp, I habn't seen you for more'n 
a week. 

Pom. No, I habn't leisure to talk to common nig- 
gers now; I'se busy nursing de sick. 

Zeke. Golly, Pomp ! you looks as much like a sick 
nurse as a lion, only rather more so. 

Pom. Well, I's attending ole massa; he's got de 
mathematics, and he's been lying at de point ob sick- 
ness for a week; de disease is bery serious, and all de 
shell fish in his old body hab got quite extracted. 

Zeke. All de what? 

Pom. All de shellfish — de mussels, you know; I 
always thought you was a scholar, Zeke. 

Zeke, So I oughter be; I went to de night school 
five times, twice de teacher didn't come, and de fird 
time he'd got no candle; and after dat I went to de 
college and cleaned de windows ebery week, so I 
oughter know something 'bout physicology. 

Pom. Dat you should. If you was only as clebber 
as de great Dr. Snowball dat comes here ebery day 
from de expensary to see massa, you'd rake de pile, 
Zeke. He gets hold of massa's arm so — {imitates a 
doctor, feeling his pulse and shaking his head) — and 
den he says it's free-and-twenty below Nero's and 
den he look in his mouf to see what he's been eating, 
and he shake his head and say to me, "Pompey," he 
say, "take care of your massa, or else he'll nebber re- 
cover from one end to de oder, and you may expect 
ebery minute to be his next." And den he write a 



140 THE QUACK DOCTOR 

subscription for me to put his feet in hot water and 
salt, and gib him some brandy and gruel ebery ten min- 
utes. 

Zeke. Did you gib it him? 

Pom. Well, I got a lily bit mixed up wid de medi- 
cine and I put his feet into de gruel, and gib him some 
hot water and salt ebery ten minutes. 

Zeke. And what became of de brandy, Pomp? 

Pom. I 'spects I must hab drunk it myself. I's 
berry much giben to does absence of mind fits. 

Zeke. I'm 'fraid your absence ob mind wouldn't 
hab drunk de hot water and salt, eh, Pomp? 

Pom. No, Zeke, my fits don't extend dat far. 

Dr. Snow, {outside). Don't gib yourself any more 
trouble, I know de way. 

Pom. Here's de doctor; I'll go and fetch massa's 
coffee — but first I'll act like de worshipers ob old, 
and prostrate myself at de feet ob a jenny ass! 
{He lies down at the door, which opens, and Dr. 
Snowball is seen entering backwards, as if bowing to 
someone outside. He falls over Pompey, who then 
makes his exit.) 

Dr. Snow {rising, pulls off his spectacles, and looks 
about him). Dear me, how did I fall ober de carpet? 
{Lays his cane upon the table.) 

Zeke. I spects it's because you'd no eyes behind 
you. People dat walk backwards in dis life neber see 
de 'tumblin' blocks dat lie in de way. 

Dr. Snow, {aside). Who's dis, I wonder — anoder 
doctor! but it's no matter, I'll hab no ribals in my path. 
I'm determined to make all de money myself. It's de 
duty of ebery profeshonal man to get rich, for de poor 
man's advice is neber taken, let it be eber so wise. Let 
a man once frow a five dollar gold piece down on de 
table, and eberybody can hear de ring ob his money, 
but if he only frows a cent nobody can hear de sound, 
so I won't hab any oppersition in my profeshonal prac- 
tice. {Turns to Zeke.) Now, sir, who are you? I've 
seen you somewhere, haben't I? 



THE QUACK DOCTOR 141 

Zeke. Berry likely, I generally goes dar. 

Dr. Snow. Hab you eber traveled? 

Zeke. Berry often, when I's been on a journey. 

Dr. Snow. How long hab you been here? 

Zeke. 'Bout five feet six. 

Dr. Snow. Where hab you come from? 

Zeke. Home. 

Dr. Snow. Where's dat? 

Zeke. Whar I started from. 

Dr. Snow. What might your name be — ? 

Zeke. I might be Dr. Snowball, but it isn't. 

Dr. Snow. So you know me, do you? 

Zeke. I spects you's de great Doctor Snowball from 
de suspensary, dat obercomes all de simpletums of hu- 
man nature, howeber differcult dey are. 

Dr. Snow. Yes, sir, I am the great Dr. Snowball, 
and all symptoms are alike to me. A physical dif- 
ficulty to me is impossible. 

Zeke. Can you substract teef? 

Dr. Snow, {aside). Aha! dis is anoder patient? 
{To Zeke.) Yes, sir, I can extract teeth. 

Zeke. From what sort of mouf s ? 

Dr. Snow. All mouths are de same to me. 

Zeke. Den substract one from de mouf ob de Mis- 
sissippi. 

Dr. Snow, {takes his cane up). What do you mean 
by dat? {Shakes it at him.) 

Zeke {retreats behind table). You cures de head- 
ache, don't you? 

Dr. Snow. Yes, sir, promptly. 

Zeke. In any kinds ob heads, I s'pose? 

Dr. Snow. Certainly. 

Zeke. Den suppose you tries de head ob naviga- 
tion. 

{Dr. Snowball pursues Zeke with his cane, who 
dodges him round the table.) 

Zeke. And you sets arms and legs, doesn't you? 

Dr. Snow. Well, sir, what of dat? 

Zeke. Can you set an arm'ob de sea, or de leg ob 



142 THE QUACK DOCTOR 

a triangle? And I s'pose you cures warts on de hands, 
and corns and bunions on de feet? 

Dr. Snow. I do, sir. 

Zeke. You can cure warts on de hands ob a clock 
den, and take a bunion off de foot ob a hill? 

Dr. Snow. I'll show you wedder I can or not. 
(Rushes after him again 'round table, knocking over 
both the chairs.) I'll blister your side for you, if I 
can only catch you. 

Zeke. Dar's one side you can't blister. 

Dr. Snow. Which is dat? 

Zeke. De sea side, and dar's one back you'd be 
puzzled to put a plaster on. 

Dr. Snow. I'd like to put one on yours. 

Zeke. You can't put one on a hedgehog's ! 

Dr. Snow. You rascal! (Overturns table to get 
at him. Zeke retreats towards the door.) I can see 
a rascal in your face. 

Zeke. I nebber knew before my face was a looking 
glass. (As he is close to the door, Dr. Snowball makes a 
blow at him with his cane, Zeke ducks, and the blow 
alights upon the breakfast tray which Pompey is just 
bringing in, Zeke darts out at the door.) 

Pom. Hallo, dar ! Dar's a fall in provisions at 
last. Massa's been on grumbling at de price for a 
long time. Hadn't you better go in and see massa, 
sir? 

Dr. Snow. How is he, did he follow my prescrip- 
tion ? 

Pom. No, sir, he didn't, or else he'd be roasted. 
He frew it into de fire. 

Dr. Snow. What for? 

Pom. He didn't dike de hot water and salt. 

Dr. Snow. Ha, I shall hab to diet him, dat's all. 
(Exit Dr. Snowball.) 

Pom. Dieting's just a race between physic and 
starvation, to see which can kill first; when you die you 
lib on nuffin, and when you diet you've nuffin to live on. 



THE QUACK DOCTOR 14a 

Enter Zehe at door, 

Zehe. Whar's de doctor, Pomp? 

Pom. He's gone to diet massa. 

Zehe. Ha, dar's nuffin like diet, if it's good dietj 
dar was an old nigger down at Salwannah used to gib 
wonderful advice about diet. He told us what we 
mustn't hab to eat, and what was strange, eberybody 
took dat old nigger's advice. 

Pom. What did he advise, Zeke? 

Zehe. He said we mustn't eat de shovel or de poker 
or de tongs, because dey was bery hard ob digestion; 
and we mustn't eat de bellows, because dey was in- 
clined to be windy; and bricks and mortar was too 
binding. Lead, he tol us, was too heavy for food, 
and drinking petroleum was apt to produce too sudden 
a change in de system. 

Pom. Golly, dat was a clebber nigger, Zeke. 

Zehe. You're 'bout right dar, Pomp. But I say, 
Pomp, s'pose your old massa die, what's you going 
to do? 

Pom. I's gwine to pray for him, Zeke. 

Zehe. Wal now, dat's berry foolish ob you, Pomp? 

Pom. What for? Don't you go to church, Zeke? 

Zehe. Oh, yes, I go dar a good deal, considerable 
— berry near ebery Sunday — dat is, occasionally, now 
and den, a little, not much, if any. 

Pom. Den why not pray for old massa, Zeke? 

Zehe. What, after he's dead; what's de use ob 
praying for a man after he's dead? 

Pom. But he's such a good massa, Zeke, and you 
knows we oughter pray sometimes. 

Zehe. Den I'd pray for anoder like him. 

Pom. Wouldn't you be 'fraid ob his ghost, Zeke? 

Zehe. No. I don't tink ghosts such disagreeable 
people as dey are s'posed to be. I wish I could be 
a ghost, Pomp. 

Pom. Why, what's de special benefit ob being a 
ghost ? 

Zeke. Why, dey've neber no bills to pay, and dey's 



144 THE QUACK DOCTOR 

nebber in debt, Pomp. You nebber heard ob anybody 
habing any claim against one ob those people. Dey 
nebber hab to buy vittles or drink, and dere shirts and 
boots nebber wears out, and dere. clothes are nebber 
shabby. Dey are de only independent people in de 
world, Pomp, and I wish I was one. 

Enter Dr. Snowball. 

Dr. Snow. Here you, Pompey, get your massa 
some hen fruit, at once. 

Pom. What sort of fruit? 

Dr. Snow. Hen fruit. 

Pom. Nebber heard ob it. Whar does it grow? 

Dr. Snow. It doesn't grow, you ignorant nigger. I 
mean eggs. 

Pom. Oh, you mean eggs, den why didn't you say 
so? 

Dr. Snow. You must boil dem three minutes. 

Pom. Oh, free minutes; what, by de clock? 

Dr. Snow. Yes. 

Pom. Den I can't. 

Dr. Snow. Why can't you? 

Pom. 'Cause de clock's half an hour too fast. 

Dr. Snow. What does dat matter, you ass? And 
I've left a bottle ob my great Kerfoozlem medicine, 
dat licks all creation, on de table. 

Zehe. Is dat berry strong stuff, doctor? 

Dr. Snow. Strong? Dat's not de word for it — 
it's mighty. It cures anything; sore eyes, baldness, 
pains in de back, bad tempers, toofache or tight boots. 
It is a splendid hair wash, a powerful vermin killer, 
an excellent sauce, a first-rate pickle, and a good sub- 
stitute for turpentine, and it will remove all incum- 
brances whatsoever. 

Zehe. Yes, I heard ob it de odder day. It did 
Bob Crow a berry great service last week. 

Dr. Snow. I'm proud ob your testimony, sar. How 
did it operate on him? 

Zehe. It removed his mudder-in-law in two doses. 



THE QUACK DOCTOR 145 

Dr. Snow. Dere must be a mistake about dat. 

Zeke. Bob thought so. He thought her constertu- 
tion would stand anyfing, he'd tried beetle poison, 
aqua forty, I don't know whether it wasn't aqua fifty 
or not, and seberal odder soofing lickers ob dat kind, 
and she was proof against dem all; but two doses ob 
your Kerfoozlem did de work at once. I believe it 
would hab cured old uncle Peter himself, dat was 
killed last fall. 

Dr. Snow. How was he killed? 

Zeke. Wal, he'd got up in his sleep one night and 
tried to get out of de window, and de window sash 
fell down on his neck and broke his neck, and den he 
fell out and his head caught de shutter and killed him, 
and he fell into de rain-butt and was drowned, and 
de butt tossed ober and he rolled into de gutter and 
dar he was froze to deff, and den dey took him to de 
station-house and got twelve fat jurymen to come and 
sit on him, and dat squashed all de life out of him. 

Dr. Snow. Dat's a wonderful story, I shall hab 
to wash dat down. Pompey, fetch me a glass of wine 
from your massa's table. 

Pom. Yes, sah. (Aside.) Golly, how I'll fix him! 
(Exit Pompey.) 

Dr. Snow, (to Zeke). Now, sir, let me persuade 
you to try one bottle of my wonderful Kerfoozlem. 

Zeke. Thank you, doctor, but I've got no mudder- 
in-law. Will it do for washing licker? 

Dr. Snow. No linen is properly washed without it. 

Zeke. Will it make good furniture polish? 

Dr. Snow. Makes old mahogany into new. Ah, 
here's de wine. 

Enter Pompey with glass on tray. Dr. Snowball takes 
the glass and drinks, then drops the glass. 

Pom. What's de matter? 
Dr. Snow. What's dis you've given me? 
Pom. De wine, doctor, out ob de bottle on massa's 
table. 



146 THE QUACK DOCTOR 

Dr. Snow. Which table? 

Pom. De lily table in corner. 

Dr. Snow. Dat's where I put ,de Kerfoozlem, I'm 
poisoned! a chair, quick! {They each run for a chair 
and bring them together in the center. As the doctor is 
sitting down, they each take one of them away and sit 
upon them, the doctor coming to the ground between 
them.) 

Zeke. Why, Pomp, what hab you taken the doc- 
tor's chair for? 

Pom. You took it, I only took the one I brought 
for myself. 

Dr. Snow. You two rascals! (They laugh at him.) 
What are you laughing at, stretching your mouths till 
dey are as large almost as your two heads? (Threat- 
ens them with his cane.) 

Zeke. I've seen somefing dat has a mouf larger dan 
its head. 

Dr. Snow. Eh, what, do you want to make a fool 
ob me? 

Zeke. No, sah, but it's true for all dat. 

Dr. Snow. Where can dere be anything dat has a 
mouf larger dan its head? 

Zeke. De mouf ob a river, doctor, is berry much 
larger dan its head. 

Pom. So it is, Zeke, I 'member once swimming 
across the mouf ob a river when I was a lily boy. 

Dr. Snow. Well, I suppose you was a good swimmer. 

Pom. No, dat's de best ob it, I couldn't swim at all. 
Why I swum in a boat. 

Dr. Snow. Den de boat swum, not you. 

Pom. Oh, yes, I must be swimming wid de boat, I 
couldn't walk ober, you know. But when I was get- 
ting out ob de boat, I was taken wid a queer state of 
feeling, and I stepped into de water. 

Zeke. And you couldn't swim; wasn't you drowned? 

Pom. Oh, no, I frew out my arms, in dis way. 
(Throws out both his arms, the tray which he has in 
his hand comes in contact with Dr. Snowball's face.) 






THE OPENING SPEECH 147 

Dr. Snow. The deuce! 

Zehe. No, doctor, dat wasn't de deuce, it was de 
tray dat won dat trick, de tray was in Pomp's hand. 

Dr. Snow. And de cane is in mine, you rascals ! 
{Comic business — he pursues them with the cane, and 
finally chases them out of the room.} 

Curtain. 



THE OPENING SPEECH 



CHARACTERS 

Frank Clayton. Sammy Long. 

Harry Thompson. Johnny Wilson. 

Tommy Watkins. Willie Brown. 

Scene. — A stage. Curtain rises, and Frank Clayton 
comes forward and speaks. 



Frank. Ladies and gentlemen: Our performances 
are now about to commence. We have spent some time 
in preparing for this exhibition, and we hope you will 
be pleased with all the performances that may be given. 
You well know that we have not had much practice in 
giving school exhibitions, and if you see any errors, 
we hope you will kindly forgive and overlook. We 
will endeavor to give our recitations correctly, and act 
our parts truthfully, and we ask you to — and we ask 
you to — and — and — and we ask that — that — that — 

Enter Harry Thompson. He comes in front of Frank 
and commences to speak. 

Did you ever hear of Jehosophat Boggs, 
A dealer and raiser of all sorts of dogs ? 
No? Then I'll endeavor in doggerel verse . 
To just the main points of the story rehearse. 
Boggs had a good wife — 



148 THE OPENING SPEECH 

Frank {speaking in a loud whisper). Harry, what 
did you come out here for? I'm. not through the in- 
troductory speech yet. 

Harry {turns half way round, puts his hand to his 
mouth, as if to keep the audience from hearing, and 
speaks in a loud whisper). I know you weren't 
through, but you stuck, and I thought I had better 
come on. You know my recitation is second on the 
programme, and I didn't want to have a bungle right 
at the commencement of the exhibition. 

Frank. Go back to your place, you little rascal, 
and don't interrupt me again. I'm going to speak my 
piece. 

Harry (with his hand up to hide his mouth as be- 
fore). Oh, you're stuck and you'd better retire. 

(Turns to audience, and continues to speak his 
piece.) 

Boggs had a good wife, the joy of his life, 
There was nothing between them inclining to strife. 
Except her dear J.'s dogmatic employment; 
And that, she averred, did mar her enjoyment. 

Frank (whispering as before). I say, Harry, get 
from before me and let me speak my piece. 

Harry (turns, puts up his hand, and whispers as 
before). Oh, you keep shady until I get through. 
(Turns to audience and speaks.) 

She often had begged him to sell off his dogs, 
And instead to raise turkey, spring chickens or 

hogs. 
She made him half promise at no distant day 
He would sell the whole lot, not excepting old Tray ; 
And as good luck would have it, — 

Frank (taking Harry by the collar and pulling him 
back). I tell you to get out of this until I have spoken 
my piece. 



THE OPENING SPEECH 149 

Harry. I won't. Let me alone, I say. You have 
stuck fast, and do you want to spoil the exhibition? 
Didn't you know enough to keep off the stage until 
I had spoken my piece? 

Frank (still holding him by the collar). It is you 
that is spoiling the exhibition. (Leads him off the 
stage.) 

Harry (speaking loudly as he goes out). I call this 
an outrage. 

Frank (returning to his place and commencing to 
speak). Ladies and gentlemen, my speech has been 
interrupted, and I will commence again. Our perform- 
ances are now about to commence. We have spent 
some time in preparing for this exhibition, and we 
hope you will be pleased with all the performances 
that may be given. You know that we have not had 
much practice in giving school exhibitions, and if you 
see any errors, we hope you will kindly forgive and 
overlook. We will endeavor to give our recitations 
correctly, and act our parts truthfully, and we ask you 
to — to — and we ask you to — and act our parts truth- 
fully, and we ask you to — and we ask you to — (in a 
lower tone). I've forgotten it again; isn't that too 
bad? (Speaking as before.) And we ask you to — 
to — to — 

Enter Tommy Watkins. He comes in front of Frank, 
and commences to speak "The Ghost.*' 

'Tis about twenty years since Abel Law, 

A short, round favored, merry 

Old soldier of the Revolutionary 

War, 

Was wedded to a most abominable 

Shrew. 

The temper, sir, of Shakespeare's Catharine 

Could no more be compared with hers 

Than mine 

With Lucifer's. 



150 THE OPENING SPEECH 

Frank (in a loud whisper). Tommy Watkins, get 
from before me. Don't you see I'm speaking? I 
don't want to be interrupted — I want to finish my 
speech. 

Tommy (facing the audience and speaking in the 
same tone as when reciting his speech). Oil, you'd 
better quit ! You've stuck twice, now, and if you don't 
go off the stage the audience will become disgusted. 

Sammy Long (seated in the audience). The people 
are disgusted now with that boy's opening speech. He'd 
better go home, memorize it, and speak it some time next 
year. 

Tommy. There ! You hear what they say out there 
in the audience. They are disgusted, and they think 
you had better leave the stage. 

Frank. Oh, that's nobody but Sammy Long, and 
he is displeased because we didn't invite him to take 
part in the exhibition. 

Tommy. Well, I'll go ahead and speak my piece 
while you are trying to think up the words you have 
forgotten. 

Her eyes were like a weasel's ; she had a harsh 

Face, like a cranberry marsh, 

All spread with spots of white and red; 

Hair of the color of a wisp of straw, 

And a disposition like a cross-cut saw. 

The appellation of this lovely dame 

Was Nancy; don't forget the name. 

Frank. Stop, Tommy; I can finish my speech now. 
Tommy. So can I. (Continues his recitation.) 

Her brother David was a tall, 
Good-looking chap, and that was all; 
One of your great big nothings, as they say 
Out in Rhode Island, picking up old jokes 
And cracking them on other folks. 
Well, David undertook one night to play 



THE OPENING SPEECH 151 

The Ghost, and frighten Abel, who, 

He knew, 

Would be returning from a journey through 

A grove of forest wood 

That stood 

Below 

The house some distance — half a mile or so. 

With a long taper 

Cap of white paper, 

Just made to cover 

A wig, nearly as large over 

As a corn-basket, and a sheet 

With both ends made to meet 

Across his breast 

(The way in which ghosts are always dressed), 

He took 

His station near 

A huge oak-tree, 

Whence he could overlook 

The road and see 

Whatever might appear. 

It happened that about an hour before, friend Abel 

Had left the table 

Of an inn, where he had made a halt, 

With horse and wagon, 

To taste a flagon 

Of malt 

Liquor, and so forth, which, being done, 

He went on, 

Caring no more for twenty ghosts 

Than if they had been so many posts. 

David was nearly tired of waiting; 

His patience was abating; 

At length, he heard the careless tones 

Of his kinsman's voice, 

And then the noise 



152 THE OPENING SPEECH 

Of wagon wheels among the stones. 

Abel was quite elated, and was roaring 

With all his might, and pouring 

Out, in great confusion, 

Scraps of old songs made in "the Revolution." 

His head was full of Bunker Hill and Trenton; 
And jovially he went on, 
Scaring the whip-po'-wills among the trees 
With rhymes like these: 

(Sings. Air: "Yankee Doodle/*) 

"See the Yankees 
Leave the hill, 

With baggernetts declining, 
With lopped-down hats 
And rusty guns, 

And leather aprons shining. 

"See the Yankees — Whoa! Why, what is that?" 
Said Abel, staring like a cat, 
As slowly on the fearful figure strode 
Into the middle of the road. 

"My conscience ! what a suit of clothes ! 

Some crazy fellow, I suppose. 

Hallo! friend, what's your name? by the powers 
of gin, 

That's a strange dress to travel in." 
"Be silent, Abel; for now I have come 

To read your doom; 

Then hearken, while your fate I now declare. 

I am a spirit — " "I suppose you are; 

But you'll not hurt me, and I'll tell you why: 

Here is a fact which you cannot deny; — 

All spirits must be either good 

Or bad — that's understood — 

And be you good or evil, I am sure 

That I'm secure. 



THE OPENING SPEECH 153 

If a good spirit, I am safe. If evil — 
And I don't know but you may be the devil — 
If that's the case, you'll recollect, I fancy, 
That I am married to your sister Nancy!" 

{Bows and turns to go of. To Frank.) Now, 
Frank, you can go ahead again until you come to the 
sticking place. I hope that, during the time I have 
generously given you by speaking my piece, you have 
been collecting your scattered senses, and will now be 
able to finish what you began. {Exit Tommy.) 

Frank. Ladies and gentlemen, I am not at all 
pleased with this way of doing business. I think these 
boys have not treated me with proper respect. I was 
selected to give the opening or introductory address, 
and you see how it has been done. 

Sammy {in the audience). We didn't see very much 
of it. Don't you think it would be well enough for 
you to retire and memorize your speech? 

Frank. You boys out there had better keep silent 
and not create a disturbance. There is an officer in 
the house. 

Enter Willie Brown. He comes before Frank and 
commences to speak. 

" 'Twas night ! The stars were shrouded in a veil 
of mist; a clouded canopy o'erhung the world; the vivid 
lightnings flashed and shook their fiery darts upon the 
earth — " 

Frank {speaking out). I say, Willie Brown, what 
did you come here for? I haven't finished the opening 
speech yet. 

Willie. What's the use of having an opening speech 
now? The exhibition is half over. {Continues his 
speech.) 

"The deep-toned thunder rolled along the vaulted 
sky; the elements were in wild commotion; the storm- 
spirit howled in the air; the winds whistled; the hail- 
stones fell like leaden balls; the huge undulations of 



154 THE OPENING SPEECH 

the ocean dashed upon the rock-bound shore; and tor- 
rents leaped from mountain tops; when the murderer 
sprang from his sleepless couch with vengeance on his 
brow — murder in his heart — and the fell instrument 
of destruction in his hand." 

Frank. Stop, I say. What kind of an exhibition 
will this be without an introductory speech ? Stop, I 
say. We will be the laughing stock of the country if 
we don't open our exhibition with an introductory 
speech. 

Johnny (in the audience). Oh, nobody cares for 
the introductory speech. Let the speech go and give 
us some dialogues and songs. 

Willie, No dialogues and songs until I have fin- 
ished my speech. This is my place on the programme. 
(Continues his speech. Frank comes and stands 
near him and they both speak at the same time, Willie 
giving the concluding portion of his speech and Frank 
commencing at the first of his Opening Speech and 
going as far as he had gone before. Willie should 
finish just before Frank commences to stammer.) 

"The storm increased; the lightnings flashed with 
brighter glare; the thunder growled with deeper en- 
ergy; the winds whistled with a wilder fury; the con- 
fusion of the hour was congenial to his soul, and the 
stormy passions which raged in his bosom. He 
clenched his weapon with a sterner grasp. A de- 
moniac smile gathered on his lip; he grated his teeth; 
raised his arm; sprang with a yell of triumph upon his 
victim, and relentlessly killed — a mosquito!" (Bows 
and turns to" go off. To Frank.) Stuck again, my 
boy. If we had waited for the opening speech we 
would not have got our exhibition opened for a week or 
ten days. (Exit Willie.) 

Enter Harry Thompson. He comes forward and 
speaks. 

Our parts are performed and our speeches are ended, 
We are monarchs and courtiers and heroes no more; 



THE OPENING SPEECH 155 

To a much humbler station again we've descended, 
And are now but the school-boys you've known us 
before. 

Farewell then our greatness — 'tis gone like a dream, 
'Tis gone — but remembrance will often retrace 

The indulgent applause which rewarded each theme, 
And the heart-cheering smiles that enlivened each 
face. 

We thank you ! Our gratitude words cannot tell, 
But deeply we feel it — to you it belongs; 

With heartfelt emotion we bid you farewell, 

And our feelings now thank you much more than our 
tongues. 

We will strive to improve, since applauses thus cheer us, 
That our juvenile efforts may gain your kind looks; 

And we hope to convince you, the next time you hear us, 
That praise has but sharpened our relish for books. 

(Bows and turns to go off.) I have spoken the vale- 
dictory and the exhibition is over. Ring down the 
curtain. 

Frank (excitedly). Stop! Hold! Don't! I 
haven't finished my speech yet. 

Johnny (in the audience). You've given us enough 
for the present. You can finish it out next Christmas. 

Harry. Ring down the curtain. 

Frank. Stop ! Don't ! Don't ! I want to speak 
my piece. (A bell is rung and the curtain falls.) 

Frank (drawing the curtain aside and coming out). 
Here's a go! How are we going to get along without 
an Opening Speech? Well, anyhow, if I can't get 
through with that, I know a piece I can speak without 
breaking down, and here goes; I'll show you, and these 
boys, that I'm not to be put down as a dunce. (Speaks.) 



15*6 THE OPENING SPEECH 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase) 
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
And saw, within the moonlight in his room 
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, 
An angel, writing in a book of gold:— 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 
And to the presence in the room he said, 
"What writest thou?"— The vision raised its head, 
And, with a look made of all sweet accord, 
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." 
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," 
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, 
But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then, 
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night 
It came again with a great wakening light, 

And showed the names whom love of God had 
blessed, 

And lo, Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 

(Bows and retires.) 

McBride. 



END 



ENTERTAINMENT BOOKS 
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HIGH SCHOOL DIALOGUES 

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FUN FOR FRIDAY AFTERNOONS 

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